


Imperium Ascendant Book I: Birth of the Imperium

by Jayfiction



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Space Opera, science-fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayfiction/pseuds/Jayfiction
Summary: We all know the tale, The Emperor of Mankind creates Twenty Primarchs to conquer the Galaxy. Nine Fall to Chaos's taint and let the galaxy burn. What if this was not the case? What if the Ruinous Powers never got their claws into the Emperor's Sons? What if the Imperium Ascended instead of falling into darkness and suffering? This is the story of that possibilityBook I of an ongoing Fanfiction within the Warhammer 40k universe.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. Paradox Undone (Ch 1-4)

**Imperium Ascendant**

####  **Chapter One: Paradox Undone**

_Location: A Hidden Vault Within Luna._

Luna was where mankind first touched the Cosmos. Leaving our cradle to explore the stars. It was only fitting it would be where mankind's Ascension started. In the shadows of Old Night, the newly crowned Emperor of Mankind started an impossible project within Luna. Using his own genius and the resources of newly conquered Terra and Luna, He sought to create beings that would guide mankind along the Shining Path.

  
The results of this great endeavor were Twenty Artificial Wombs, each containing a Fetal Transhuman greater than even anything crafted. Born of Millennia of Scientific Discovery, Warpcraft stolen from the Immaterium. and the very blood of the Anathema. These Primarchs were built to be the Heroes of a New Age. An age of Imperium. Where Humanity was ascendant and no longer feared the darkness. A noble ambition, but other forces stood in opposition to the newly crowned Master of Mankind. The Primordial Annihilator sought to claim these infant Primarchs. To warp them from paragons of mankind to tools of doom and darkness.

  
Reality shimmered as spacetime was distorted by a Warp Rift. The Ruinous Powers had gambled everything on this. An Immaterium Born Paradox that would seal both the Galaxy and the Anathemas Fate. Using Sons of the 17th Legion and the insanity of Warp Currents they planned to pluck the Twenty Primarchs from safety and twist them however they pleased.

  
Argel Tal and his brothers of the Serrated Sun Chapter exited the rift. Stunned and disjointed by the flickering visions and movements through reality Argel Tal attempted to identify his surroundings to no avail. The oily voice of Ingethel the Ascended poured into his mind. Secrets and lies were pumped into him like a serpent's venom. Like the puppets, they were the Word bearers moved forward with a stiff halting gate not known to Astartes. With their faith in the Emperor shattered fully and the Primordial Truth laid bare Tal knew what must be done.

  
Moving slowly past the Glass Wombs he pulled forth his blade and advanced on the Gellar Field generator at the center of the chamber. The True Gods would save the Primarchs from the False Emperor and his Father would be vindicated. In his stupor, he rose his blade and prepared to destroy the only defense the Infant Demi-Gods had from the predations of the Warp.

  
Right as his blade began its downward arch the Warp Stirred again. Ingethel let out a screech when she felt the power and its source. At the other end of the chamber from the Serrated Suns Portal, another gash in the Materium opened up. Not weeping corruption and Chaos like the first, this one burnt with Holy Fire. Ingethel began to quake her Daemonic form weakening under the pressure coming from the rift.

  
“Anathema… THE ANATHEMA HAS COME!” the newly born Daemon Prince wailed in horror and fear as the aura of the being her kind feared above all burst forth from the portal.

  
The Word Bearers sensed it too and as one their hackles raised at the False Emperor's presence. The pain and humiliation of Monarchia was a fresh wound in their Transhuman memories. Yet even the Word Bearers, who had been witness to the Emperor's wrath were shocked by the energy leaking from the rift. While the power unleashed on Monarchia had been far more brutal and unrestrained than the usual Psychic Aura the Emperor gave off this was far far worse. It was a Nova of sheer psychic dominion. Unfettered by mortal constraints it bathed the chamber in a white light that seared the minds and souls of the Heretic Astartes.

  
Ingethel buckled under the scalding light and her form evaporated like mist at dawn. With their portal collapsing and their guide cast back into the warp. The Word Bearers were lost and confused. Their Pilgrimage of enlightenment had turned into a trap. Yet the worse for them was yet to come. For this Warp Rift was not meant to banish Ingethel or protect the infant Primarchs from Chaotic taint but to transport a chosen few through time and space to avenge themselves and save the Imperium. The Legion of the Damned had come to change destiny.

  
Bolter fire erupted throughout the Laboratory as the Damned attacked the Word Bearers. Diving for cover the Traitor Astartes were pinned down by constant volleys of Burning Bolt Round. A number of them had been too late to react to the sudden appearance of ghostly burning Astartes and were now reduced to hunks of burning meat and bubbling blood. Recovering first Tal ordered his Battle-Brothers to open Fire on the Phantoms while avoiding the infant Primarchs.

  
Bolt Shells whizzed past the Gestation Capsules as the firefight continued. Alarms and Klaxon began to wail adding to the frantic chaos. Slowly but surely the Legion of the Damned moved closer and closer to the embattled heretics. Peering behind his cover Argel Tal noticed the Number on the gestation capsule one of the Damned hid behind. XIII. Struck by grim inspiration he fired his Bolt Pistol at the Womb of what would be Guilliman. Attempting to kill two birds with one shell.

  
Moving faster than what was thought possible for an Astartes one of the Legionaries threw himself in front of the shell. It punctured the Ghostly Astartes armor and like a candle in the wind, he flickered out of the materium. Tal’s transhuman eyes noticed something particular about the martyred enemy. His armor may be burnt and blackened but the inverted Omega on his pauldron was still barely visible.

“Sons of Guilliman always willing to follow their arrogant father,”Argel said to himself before barking orders to his brothers.

  
“Target the Capsules marked I, VI, VII, XI, XIII, XVIII, and XIX” Tal knew his purpose here was to allow the Gods to claim the Primarchs but if he could not do that then at least he could cripple the False Emperor and eliminate threats to his father and legion before they even existed. Letting these phantoms to martyr themselves saving what might be their future gene-fathers.

  
Argal Tal’s hypothesis was correct. Legionnaire after Legionnaire stood in front of the incoming fire to protect the infant Primarchs. Yet even with these casualties they still advanced on the Word Bearers, butchering the heretics with Bolt Fire, and blade if they got close enough to a straggling one. What had been a slaughter became a pitched a battle between the rows of Gestation Capsules

.  
After ten minutes that seemed to last ten hours only a handful of Damned Legionnaires along with Tal and his three remaining brothers remained. Word Bearer Corpses and Bolter Shells littered the room while the Chambers doors quaked with the attempts of outside Imperial Forces attempting to breach the sealed room. Cursing in Colchisian Argal barked orders to his remaining Brothers. They were running out of time. Even if they won this battle the False Emperor's slaves would kill them instead.

  
Ordering his Brothers to retreat they charged towards the Gellar Field Generator hoping to just maybe complete their original objective. One Heretic stayed behind to provide covering fire. He screamed maddened Colchis prayers as Flaming Bolter rounds tore him to pieces. The remaining three charged towards the Generator as the Legionaries Pursued. A Volley of Bolts ripped apart another Word Bearer, but they were so close. Mere meters away from salvation and humanity's eyes being opened to the Primordial Truth.

  
This was not to be the case for while the firefight raged one last being exited the Legion of the Damned’s portal. He now stood in between the last two Heretics and the Generator. Towering over both Astartes, with armor as burnt and blackened as the other it was still unmistakably a Custodes. With a single slash of his Burning Guardian Spear Tal’s last remaining Brother was dead and he stood alone against the Black-Clad Burning Ghost of one of the Emperor's Legion.

  
For a split second Argal Tal and the Custodes stared at each other. Tears of Molten Metal trickled from the Custodes visor as recognition dawned upon the Serrated Suns Captains. Argal Tal’s last words was “Aquillon?” As soon as those fateful words of recognition left his mouth the Guardian Spear of the Vengeful Custodes parted his head from his body.  
  


* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Two: Message in a Bottle**

The sealed doors to the Laboratory exploded inwards in a shower of smoke and sparks. Soldiers of the nascent Imperium along with frantic gene-smith's rushed into the chamber searching for the source of the alarm and source of the bolter fire. The soldiers noticed the fallen Word Bearers positions around them, looking warily at the strange warriors and preparing to fill the corpses with rounds if any of these trespassers were still alive. 

The gene-smiths, in turn, scrambled to the various data-readouts and monitors attached to the gestation capsules. The Great Work could not be damaged. Too much had been done to ensure the Primarchs’ birth. If they had been damaged or contaminated… trillions would die begging for saviors stolen from them. 

A third party soon entered the Chamber, A old man cloaked in ragged robes flanked by golden armored giants. The soldiers and gene-wrights instantly snapped to attention at the sight of The Sigillite and the Custodes Guard. Malcador’s wizened eyes scanned the chamber while his mind's eye did the same. These corpses stunk of the Great Enemy, no denying that. Worse still, a chaotic portal had been opened in this most secret and protected chamber. Malcador quickly used his formidable psychic powers to cleanse the chamber of Neverborns corruption. 

Yet something else hung in the chamber. Another aura that was much fainter than the chaotic taint had been obscured until Malcador purified the chamber and he could tell that it was radically different from the seeping Chaotic cancer that clung to the Primordial Annihilators’ minions and tools. This aura mystified Malcador, it was equal parts familiar and horrifically alien. Moving through the chamber with a speed that a man of his age and bearing should not possess, the Sigillite followed the strange psychic signal through the rows of infant Primarchs. 

The source was quickly identified. It was a point where reality and the warp had once intersected. Malcador was no stranger to warp rifts, both open and shut, but this particular rip in the Materium was new. Unlike the ugly wounds rent open by the Neverborn and their minions, this rift had been both carefully cut open and then sealed, akin to a surgical cut that had been sutured. The place where the rift once had been did not weep corruption, but instead soft golden energy slowly emanated from it. Reaching out to the rift, Malcador touched the metaphysical suture with his mind. The Sigillite was suddenly cast backward in an explosion of psychic power that threw the ancient Psyker a dozen feet or more.

Even as the old man was thrown back from the rift, the Custodes reacted faster than unaugmented eyes could detect and moved to Malcador, attempting to assist him. Quickly moving to his feet before the Custodes could help him, Malcador telekinetically summoned the staff that lay on the ground next to him. Calmly as if nothing had happened, he quickly left the chamber, giving orders for the tainted corpses to be sealed away in one of the warded cells meant for the most twisted artifacts of the Old Night, and for a permanent detachment of Custodes to be placed in the Chamber of the Primarchs. 

Despite his calm demeanor, Malcador was worried. He had felt an incredible psychic presence from the sutured portal, far beyond anything he had ever witnessed in his incredibly long lifetime. Yet the power was not what disturbed him, it was what the power resembled. It felt like a twisted, magnified version of his Liege’s power. When he touched the rift, his mind had been bombarded with a massive amount of information and psychic power. In his long life, Malcador had encountered similar things, psychic beacons created to transfer information directly into the brain of a worthy recipient. The beacon had even seemed to consider Malcador worthy to open it, seeing as it didn’t try to detonate his brain and that of everyone's within a mile radius. Yet it seemed that Malcador simply lacked the power to tap into the beacon’s knowledge. 

The nature of the anomaly was bizarre even for the already strange phenomena it was. It was weaved into the rift itself and then sealed into the veil between reality and the Warp. This form of metaphysical psychic surgery was something beyond Malcador’s capabilities, or virtually anyone or anything else’s for that matter. The amount of psychic control and power this must have taken was possible to only one being in the known universe. This Message had come from The Anathema. Yet Malcador’s liege and friend was busy negotiating with the new leadership of the Yndonesic Bloc, and would have no need to send such a cryptic and inaccessible message, or at least would have informed Malcador of this.

Even if this beacon was a contingency that the Sigillite was not privy to, the Chaotic incursion raised more questions. How had their portal been opened? How did they know where the project was? What were the things they sent through the portal? They were obviously gene-crafted monsters, but the designs of their armor and what little of their biology Malcador had seen disturbingly reminded him of the Thunder-Warriors and the Custodes themselves. Something worrying was occurring, and Malcador had theories but no concrete evidence about what all of this was. 

The First Lord of Terra knew one thing for certain: The Emperor of Mankind must be made aware of this. The Sigillite knew He could decipher the beacon's message and learn the secrets locked away with the infant Primarchs. Malcador moved quickly through the passages and chambers of the Lunar Labs as he journeyed to the shuttle port. He needed to return to Terra and speak with the Emperor immediately.

* * *

Location- Hive Jakar: Capital of the Yndonesic Bloc

The Inner Sanctum of Yndonesa was a massive ornate chamber, the very walls were encrusted in gems and covered with colossal religious murals that were being removed even as the future of the nation was being decided below. A grand oaken table was the centerpiece of the chamber where once countless demagogues and tyrants had bickered and argued over their fiefdom. Now, half of it was occupied by the provisional government that had formed after the fall of Cardinal Tang. All of them were in various states of fear and stress directed towards the being occupying the other half the table, the figure who was both their conqueror and their judge. He alone would decide their fate. Would they be cast down and broken like so many other warlords of Terra, or would they be spared to serve this new conqueror?

A palpable silence filled the chamber as the Emperor of Mankind watched his quarry through golden eyes that shone like miniature stars. He had met countless of their ilk throughout his impossibly long lives. Not monsters or butchers, but the servants of such. More often than not, they never directly killed but were obedient little cogs in great machines of evil. As much as he would have preferred to kill these spineless fools who had allowed millions, if not billions to die and now could only offer “I was just following orders” as a defense. They would be needed to help rebuild and run his new Empire.

Slowly rising to his feet, the Emperor began to pace the chamber, dictating his terms of surrender. They would serve and submit, or be destroyed like so many others. The cogs gave it half a second’s thought before bowing before their new Master. After giving the most capable of them new roles in the governance of this territory, he left the chamber. Letting the new elite of Hive Jakar collapse in relief with the knowledge they would not face the same fate as their previous masters. 

Flanked by Custodes, the Emperor walked briskly to his waiting shuttle. Most of Terra was now under his rule, and construction of the various buildings in the Himalayas was on schedule. The Shining Path was still open to him, and with every day that passed, he allowed himself just the smallest amount of hope that the Darkest most horrific futures he had seen would not come to pass. 

Valdor quickly approached him and bowed to his creator and king. Giving the signal to his friend and closest bodyguard to rise, the Captain-General quickly gave a sealed datapad to the Emperor. 

“It's from the Lord-Sigillite, there has been an incident on Luna.” and with that, the Master of Mankind-to be became lost in dark thoughts. Had the Four come to collect? Had he lost his greatest allies and generals before they were even born? The Emperor knew that Chaos would attempt to steal his creations at some point, but the barriers in and around the laboratories were some of the finest crafted in galactic history, something massive had gone wrong. Entering his shuttle with the Custodes, he left the Hive preparing to journey to Luna. 

Unsealing the datapad, the Emperor used his godlike intellect to absorb pages of information in milliseconds. Constantine Valdor watched his Lord scan the documents as the shuttle rocketed into orbit. A strange noise left the Emperor's throat and Valdor looked up in concern, fearing some pathogen or poison had slipped through security. It took Valdor’s heavily modified and trained mind a solid second to recognize the noise the Emperor was making. It was a chuckle. The Emperor of Mankind was laughing as he read the message his closest advisor had sent. He could feel the future shifting, he could feel the Shining Path widen and humanity’s survival becoming a little more likely. 

* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Three: Death Knell**

The shuttle sped out of Terra’s orbit headed towards the shining crescent of Luna. Thinking back to a similar moment in the distant past the Emperor allowed himself a moment of reminiscence of that fateful summer day when he watched the first human to set foot on Luna from Mission Control. Snapping back to the present, the Emperor began to speak with Valdor. 

“There has been an incursion in the Laboratory. The Great Enemy attempted to steal the Project, but they were stopped by an unknown actor who left a psychic beacon in the chamber. Stranger still, Malcador believes the Beacon is meant for me alone and has some interesting theories about its origin.” 

Valdor stiffened at the news of the incursion and immediately began planning more thorough security measures. 

“What does the Lord Sigillite think it is?” asked the Captain-General. The Emperor's lips formed a grim smile as he responded.

“He thinks it's from Me, or at least a version of me. The psychic signal the beacon let off is close to my own. Stranger things have occurred in the galaxy” The Emperor's eyes began to glow softly as he formed a mental link with Valdor in order to not just tell but show him all he needed to know.

“The currents of the Warp have always been dangerous and bizarre, Even during the Golden Age, it was not unheard of vessels arriving before they left or worlds obscured by Warp-storms to experience time differently. It's not inconceivable this is a message cast from some distant future as a warning or trap.” 

“A trap?” responded Valdor, he and his fellow Custodes had faced countless forms of warp trickery including Skin-Witches, Flesh-Formers, and other warp empowered horrors impersonating the Emperor, and the idea of a weapon designed solely to hurt his Liege brought forth the closest thing to tranquil fury a Custodes could properly feel.

Continuing, the Emperor showed countless more snippets of knowledge and data to his bodyguard as he spoke “Yes, this might be some twisted thing created by the Four in the Warp to ensnare me. It could even be something cast from an alternate reality, research into that ended badly towards the end of the Dark Age. Or perhaps something hitherto unseen by human eyes.” 

Valdor saw thousands of realities and futures laid before him and watched many snuffed out by monsters and abominations his creator sought to deny. Countless realities had died thanks to the multitude of threats both material and immaterial that haunt the universe. Valdor was the most exalted of the Custodes and had been given the privilege of seeing some of the knowledge and wisdom his Emperor possessed numerous times, but it still disoriented him to have his consciousness even momentarily stretched to the macroscopic view that the Emperor held of history and existence. Continuing to speak, the Emperor mused to himself 

“Malcador seemed to believe time travel is involved. He described the psychic signal as both similar to mine, and horribly distorted. As if it had been both bleached of intricacies, and grotesquely amplified.” The shuttle continued its journey to Luna uneventfully as the Emperor and Valdor discussed the last phase of the Unification of Terra along with possible security measures to prevent another attempt on the Primarchs. 

A few short hours passed, and they were on the final approach to Luna. The Emperor fondly remembered ancient times when to touch Terra’s moon was considered all but impossible and how glorious it had been when a single small step for man opened up giant leaps for mankind. 

This peaceful recollection was shattered when the shuttle came within a few miles of Luna's surface. The Emperor's peerless psychic senses detected something strange deep within the Moon below. Something that despite being trapped beneath miles of sanctified and fortified stone and steel, still called out to him. Landing within a hanger hidden from prying eyes near Luna’s North Pole, the Emperor and his Custodes left the shuttle and prepared to descend into the bowels of the ancient Laboratories where wonders and horrors of genetic artistry were created.

Not a soul was to be found, all diverted to allow the ruler of both Terra and Luna absolute secrecy. The Emperor and his guards soon approached the laboratory where the Primarchs had been crafted and now grew. Waiting for them was the withered form of Malcador the Sigillite. After bowing to his master and friend, Malcador began to speak.

“I take it the situation in the Yndonesic Bloc was resolved?” Giving a curt nod of confirmation the Emperor then locked eyes with Malcador and for a brief second the two greatest Psykers in the galaxy touched minds. To those with the psychic sense to detect the momentary connection where memories and secrets were exchanged between the old friends, it would have appeared like a lightning bolt traveling between their souls. 

Instantly, other details that Malcador had feared to send even though the most secure channels entered the Emperor's mind, while in turn new knowledge and plans related to the burgeoning Imperium entered Malcador’s. This method allowed the two to work in almost perfect unison in their frantic struggle to allow humanity a shot at surviving the horrors of the galaxy. 

Malcador joined the Emperor's entourage as they silently entered the laboratory where the Imperium's greatest secret was kept. Servitors had already cleaned away most signs of the battle that had been fought here less than 48 hours ago. All that remained were discolored patches of wall and floor where bolter holes had been patched and strange scorch marks that no amount of scrubbing could remove.

Slowly walking past the gestation capsules, the Emperor eyed his creations. He mused on how close he had come to losing them to the Neverborn and wondered what twisted mockeries of his ambition would have been born from these twenty Transhumans. The Custodes retreated to the entrance and corners of the room to stand guard over their master and his magnum opus. Flanked by Malcador and Valdor, the Emperor reached the end of the Chamber where reality and the warp touched. 

The semi-closed rift leaked energy that crackled and lapped at the air in the form of distorted flames. The Emperor had sensed the rift and the energy from orbit but only now when he had passed through the countless wards and defenses built into the very structure of the lab did he feel it in its entirety. In a moment that Valdor would remember for the rest of his existence, the Emperor paused mid-stride as the nature of the energy became fully apparent to him. 

The psychic aura cascaded over the Emperor as his impossibly developed psychic perception analyzed it and the ancient transhuman’s mind realized what it was. It was the spiritual death scream of a psyker, the final warp-born howl of a dying powerful psychic as its soul left its body. That alone would never be enough to shock the Master of Mankind, for he had personally been the cause of multiple Alpha class psykers emitting such a thing. What disturbed him was that the scream was his. 

Not even Malcador had realized the nature of the signal, for not even the Anathema of Chaos could envision his own death. For even in the worst possible future the countless seers of the galaxy witnessed, the Lord of Perpetuals was a constant. Slowly speaking to his twin advisors and friends, the Emperor dictated instructions for how they should proceed:

“It's genuine, this is no trap but a message sent to me. Only I am capable of receiving it. Malcador, be prepared to enact Contingencies: Terminus, Star-Child, Secundus, Malice, and Dragon.” 

Malcadors eyes shot open as every single worst-case scenario plan he and his master had developed was mentioned and that whatever this message was it could trigger them. Valdor spoke up with an almost pleading voice

“My Lord if this is that dangerous, isn’t it better to destroy this message rather than let whatever purpose it holds be fulfilled?” Quietly, in a voice that ordered the death of worlds and planned the salvation of species, the Master of Mankind said.

“Its purpose is to save humanity, and if that requires damning me I will gladly do it a thousand times over.” And with that, the Emperor of Mankind reached out to the beacon and touched the mind of its creator. 

* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Four: Corpse Emperor**

The Emperor felt his mind being pulled into the beacon, beckoning him to meet with the being beyond the rift. With a deep shuddering breath, the Master of Mankind took the plunge. A flash of golden light filled the Chamber and reality shifted. Malcador and Valdor both braced themselves in fear as the light swallowed there Master.

  
The Emperor's eyes shot open, he had delved into the beacon and wherever he was, this too was part of the message. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Incense and ozone hung in the air in an overpowering amount. The Emperor was grimly reminded of the countless Cathedrals he had visited and destroyed. The second thing was the truly obscene amount of psychic pressure in the room. His supernatural and physical senses were both muffled by the bombardment of excessive stimuli.

  
He scanned the chamber around him in the hazy half-light, attempting to get his bearings. The Emperor was standing at the foot of a gigantic staircase that ascended a pyramid of machinery and religious iconography. A scowl settled on the Emperor's face as he walked towards the stairs. He was obviously in some sort of temple of obscene opulence and meaning to whatever misguided fools created it. As he reached the first step he was startled by what at first he had assumed were statues standing on either side of the First step. They were Custodes, unmistakable in their Ornate armor. The Emperor recognized them as Hetaeron Guard, his nature as a psychic projection masking him from their view. He observed this counterpart to his companions. They were practically identical except for a single worrying detail, their cloaks were not the flowing red of the Custodes he knew but a ragged black raiment of grief.

  
Horrific realization poured over the Emperor's mind as the nature of the massive chamber he was in became evident. It was a tomb, his tomb. Wherever or whatever was the source of the Beacon it came from a place where he had fallen. Taking a deep shuddering breath the Emperor knew what must be done and began to ascend the pyramid.

  
Slowly but surely he climbed the artificial mountain. The psychic aura was only becoming stronger and the Emperor could feel the storm of energy buffet his mind, body, and soul. Every hundred steps there were twin platforms on either side of the stairs. A Custodes stood on each platform flanking the steps. The Emperor grimaced as he looked at these doppelgangers, every pair seemed to be more injured and damaged. The first pair he noticed with damage had small scorch marks on them, but as he ascended the damage became much more apparent. Their golden armor was blackened and twisted, no longer the ornate wargear of his closest companions, but broken slag clinging to decrepit transhumans.

  
Trying to shake off the growing feeling of unease that gripped him, the Emperor continued his ascent with gritted teeth. The psychic inferno raging at the top of the pyramid stung his skin and soul as he approached, the sheer amount of psychic energy pouring off whatever sat at the top of this structure could boil the blood of lesser beings and snuff out there souls like a candle in a gale. The Emperor was getting close to the top, a few hundred steps and he would reach the peak of this grotesque monument. The next pair of Custodes he saw made him stop for a second. The one on the left had impaled himself on his guardian spear, it stuck through his shoulder as a morbid crutch to keep the transhuman warrior standing upright. The one to the right had his armor had fused with the floor and its occupant seemed to be slowly burning to death inside, yet despite the clear pain and torture both men were under, neither one of them moved or made so much as a sound.

  
Cursing under his breath, the Emperor sped forward past the broken guardians, moving with superhuman speed up the last bit of the staircase, not stopping to look at the remaining Custodes. Every second spent in this broken reality where his companions were reduced to such a state and his tomb had become a temple grated on the Emperor's mind. Whatever this message was, it must contain answers to what created this realm.

  
After hours of climbing, the Emperor of Mankind reached the summit. The psychic energy that pressed upon his soul had reached a new level of intensity. Reality shimmered and seemed to burn under the mass of raw mental and spiritual power pouring forth. Gathering his energies to cloak himself, the Emperor approached the scalding psychic light. He could feel the death howl far more clearly now and a shiver ran up the Emperors spine as his psychic senses detected something new to the psychic scream. His psychic wail was part of it, the loudest and most horrific by far but not the only one, not even close. A chorus of agony and death echoed with his own. Millions, if not billions of individual psychic screams could be heard in the Warp-Born cacophony.

Finally, he was close enough to cut through the psychic and physical miasma that obscured his senses. The nature of the pyramid and its capstone became apparent. It was a hulking machine that funneled colossal amounts of energy into a throne. The Throne often seen in the Emperor's own visions. The Throne that could be humanity's salvation and the path to ascension. Slowly the Emperor approached the massive object, scalding psychic light cascaded off of the Throne obscuring the Emperor’s senses as he approached. Then finally, when he stood directly before it, he could see its occupant freely. For the first time in millennia, the Master of Mankind wept.

  
The thing on the throne was grotesque, a rotting, broken corpse held together by sheer psychic might and technology that should have been left forgotten in ages past. Thousands of innocents were fed mind, body, and soul to the husk. This abomination stuck on the precipice of Death disgusted the Emperor, it was an undead monster filled with more psychic power than anything he had ever seen that screamed a never-ending Death Knell of despair and agony. The thing on the Throne was Him.

  
Fighting back the urge to wretch the transhuman champion of the human species felt an emotion once thought gone to him, fear. Something somewhere had not just killed him but distorted him into a psychic parasite that fed off of others to prolong the inevitable. This corpse on the Throne was worshiped like a god. Not just any god, but the worst kind of deity that the Emperor had spent so long trying to defeat. It was failure incarnate, the manifestation of all his worst fears and doubts. Falling to his knees, the stunned Emperor of Mankind could not help but wonder aloud.

  
“How?” that single word filled with distress and fear hung in the colossal chamber for a long and terrible moment. How had his dream failed so horribly? In this twisted place, he had been reduced to a corpse on the edge of life and death in some sort of macarabe temple of sacrifice.

  
Millions of thoughts swirled through his transhuman mind. Someone had brought him here to see this, someone powerful. It was not the Ruinous Powers, for all there power and schemes they held no purchase on him and such tricks and traps could never reach this level of intricacy. No, this was not an illusion but some other time or place. The remaining candidates for the beacons creation were equally worrying. The Dragon of Mars? One of his wayward children? A future Primarch? A surviving Elder One? Or a last desperate call from the corpse in front of him in order to prevent this future.

  
Before the Emperor could continue his stream of thoughts, a sudden psychic pulse reverberated through the chamber. A wave of psychic energy rolled off of the Throne like an ocean swell, crashing upon the stupefied Master of Mankind. Then a second pulse occurred, then another. It reminded the Emperor of a grossly magnified heartbeat, and it took the Emperor a split nano-second to realize that was exactly what it was. In a profane parody of resuscitation, the Throne was pouring Psychic energy into the corpse forcing its broken form to somewhat function. Slowly moving closer to his deceased counterpart, he wondered if it was possible that some parody of life still dwelled in the decayed thing in front of him?

  
He got his answer when the Corpse-Emperor stirred to life. Its eye-sockets suddenly glowed with supernatural light while it's attached arm slowly reached out towards him. The carcasses jaw fell open and in a voice that could shatter worlds and dominate armies, it spoke.

  
**“Emperor Athām the Revelation: Master of Mankind, Anathema to Chaos, Augustus Imperator, Father of the Imperium, Lord of Terra and Mars, Omnissiah, Lord of Perpetuals, Sire of Heroes, and the New Man. We must speak to you”**


	2. Revelations (Ch 5-7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The message from the grim darkness of the far future is heard.

#### 

####  **Chapter Five: God-Emperor**

The Emperor stood still for a moment as a psychic shockwave hit him with the force of a Thunder Hammer. His senses were no longer obscured by the Thing on the Throne, and he could see the truly horrific nature of the corpse before him. The Immaterium as far as he could sense was utterly glutted with the white-hot power of his doppelganger. The Emperor had been often likened to a Supernova packed into a human form, yet in this reality, his dying body could no longer hold his sheer psychic might and that force was leaking out of him, smothering Terra in unimaginable psychic power. 

This Corpse Emperor had transcended the physical form and become a mass of sheer psychic energy. A shiver went down Athām’s spine. This version of him was even further from human than he himself was. Before him was not a man, but a terrifyingly powerful creature, far more akin to the First Races or those who Dwell in the Warp than the children of Terra. He had been worshipped by countless cultures as a deity or something similar due to his power and age, yet he had always spurned that accursed title. Countless beings had called themselves gods in ages past, and every single one of them had been undeserving of worship or adulation. Yet here he was, worshipped as a God and more Warp-Energy than Man, barely tethered to the materium by a broken husk of a body. 

These thoughts and a million more swirled through the mind of the Lord of Perpetuals in about the time a baseline human’s reflexes would kick in. In other words, the Emperor was in a state of bewildered shock. Another wave of psychic energy cascaded into the corpse and the Emperor watched as warp-born energy filled the husk’s cells and neurons, puppeteering them into a parody of life. The Corpse-Emperor spoke again, it's tone devoid of emotion as it gestured with a wizened limb for the Living-Emperor to come closer.

**“Surprise is understandable, none of our projections or visions depicted this outcome. The Enemy ensured that we were blind to their twisted machinations. Yet we are not allowed such weakness and waste. I have a limited amount of time to convey a large amount of information in order to ensure our victory.”**

Slowly stepping towards the mouthpiece of his future existence The Living Emperor let his mind touch with the pseudo-god before him. It was like touching the surface of the sun. Pain, excruciating, soul-shredding pain blasted through the Emperor. For both a split second and eternity, he touched his counterpart’s soul and felt what he felt and knew what he knew. Over ten millennia of information and experiences were shoved into his mind. Tears began to flow down the Living Emperor’s face as the sheer horror of the Heresy, the failure of the Webway, and all of the crimes of the Imperium slammed into him. 

As suddenly as they had begun, the memories ended. The knowledge had flowed into him in a blast of nightmares. The Living Emperors mind felt wrong, the visions were stored deep inside his labyrinthine brain, but not fully accessible to him. He had created thousands of memory locks like this in his time but rarely had the Master of Mankind suffered from one. 

**“We implanted as much of our memory as we can access into you, it appears your limited form and emotions are not capable of handling such data all at once. We were so weak then, burdened by compassion, unable to transcend. You are us, but not us. This information is imperative to the survival of the Imperium, and will slowly trickle out as it becomes pertinent. Having all of it at the wrong time could destabilize you and cause errors we can not afford. We will now answer every question you have and more, and the answer to your first question of how the future that is our present occurred is that the Primarch Project failed.”**

Still regaining his bearing, the Living Emperor suddenly focused. The thing before revolted him, not just its necrotic existence or its suffering, but the way it spoke and acted. The being that sat on the Golden Throne was far too similar to the cruel pantheons of both Materium and Immaterium. The Emperor knew he was more powerful than any human to ever exist, but this psychic abomination had discarded what separated the Emperor from the countless God-Things he battled and sought to deny. The Corpse Emperor had discarded its humanity and compassion. It was what he feared becoming most: a God-Emperor. 

**“You do not approve of what we are? We are this because of the mistakes you will make. The Primarchs will fail, and only war will be left. All we strived for will become naught but dust, leading to both Emperor and Imperium shall becoming rotten titans desperately trying to delay the inevitable as the predators circle closer to our flock. The knowledge of this future is my gift to you, Firstborn of Terra, learn from the mistakes, and save us all.”**

Steadying himself and steeling his soul, the Living Emperor said: “So where do we begin?” In response to that, a cascade of images filled the Emperor's mind as the God-Emperor Spoke:

**“The most logical start is where our Imperium both truly started and failed: The Primarchs.”**

Before his eyes, the Emperor watched the original timeline where the minions of Chaos riding the Birth Echoes of the Dark Prince had destroyed the Infant Primarchs protection and how the Chaos gods hurled them through the Warp to the planets that would rear them.

The Living Emperor watched the childhoods of the Primarchs through the lens of their memories. He saw an equal mix of heroics and horrors. Some like IX and XVIII rose above the hellish nightmares they had been dropped into, while others like XII and XIV became as monstrous as the there homeworlds. 

“So that's how it was, the Four not only stole and twisted them but cast them onto broken worlds.” The Emperor spoke with no emotion and could plainly see how the rest of the tale would unfold. Betrayal, Insanity, Chaos, Heresy… brother against brother, and the Galaxy in flames. 

“Why did we not stop them? A cruel youth does not dictate a life? Why did Malcador or I not intervene with the wayward ones?” The God-Emperor responded callously to the question as if such a thought was unworthy of one who possessed their power. 

**“Have you deluded yourself? Have you forgotten the second purpose of the Project? To cleanse yourself of weakness and humanity to be a perfect leader of a new age. The Primarchs each hold a shard of your weakness to both empower them and elevate you. As they grow and develop, your humanity will wane. We designed this to offer them a level of protection from the Ruinous Powers and ensure humanity's path to survival”**

Shock flashed through the Emperor as he realized the mistake he had made. Each Primarch when he rediscovered them expected a teacher, a guide, even a father, and what they got was an inhuman Emperor. Taking a deep breath, the Master of Mankind asked: “How did you stop Chaos from stealing them? How did you change the timeline?” 

Silence filled the Throne Room for a split second before holy flames burst into being across the gigantic chamber. Thousands of ethereal soldiers cloaked in fire flickered into existence at the base of the Pyramid. Each wore ghoulish burnt Power-Armor that seemed to be a more advanced version of his Thunder Legions. As one, the ghosts knelt before the Golden Throne and the God-Emperor spoke:

**“While we lacked the Primarchs and their gene-seed, enough samples survived for another weapon as great as they were to be born. The Primarchs may have been the greatest generals ever created, but the Legiones Astartes were the greatest army ever born of human stock. Even now, in the current era of the 41st Millenium, they protect the dying Imperium as the Angels of Death. Each one is infused with there Primarch’s geneseed and modified not just on the biological and psychological level, but on a spiritual one. Becoming ever so slightly linked to us in both life and death. Those who become lost in the warp can be touched by us and reforged as the Legion of the Damned. They are ones who saved the Primarchs"**

Slowly, the ghosts faded out of existence like candles in the wind. The Emperor watched them go observing the various barely legible Legion markings on them. Inverted Omegas, Lighting Bolts, Wings, Blood Drops, and a scant few Custodes disappeared back into the immaterial as the Corpse Emperor continued: 

**“The Galaxy is dying, Chaos, Xenos and other threats beyond even the most twisted nightmares of mortals are closing in. The war is lost and all that can be done is delay the inevitable. Even as we speak, the doom of all creation creeps closer. The Despoiler’s legions have ripped the galaxy in half while the Locust Hordes descend. Yet in their hubris, Chaos left a small gap in their armor. With their might focused on opening the Great Rift, We used the might of Quadrillions of worshipers to cast my Legion back into history, riding the same currents the First Heretics did.”**

The Living Emperors Psychic senses stretched out beyond the Terra to the galaxy at large and he could feel the Galaxy screaming. Billions were dying at the hands of monsters, and he could sense all of it. Every soul ripped from a screaming innocent to feed a Neverborn patron, Every child eaten alive by swarms of fanged xenos, Every hopeless last stand where brave soldiers died screaming prayers and begging for salvation that would never come. 

The Emperor fell to his knees and let out a roar of righteous fury that shook Terra to its core. He had experienced this exact same horror once before when the Age of Strife dawned and the Federation fell. The Emperor of Man had been willing to cast everything aside, his morals, his oaths, even his humanity to prevent another such calamity yet he had failed. Standing again slowly, with tears slowly trickling from his golden eyes, he spoke in a tone that had ordered the deaths of entire worlds 

“I will take this information you have gifted me. I will stop the grim darkness of the future from unfolding at all costs. The Imperium will ascend, no matter the price that must be paid” 

The corpse on the Throne was still. The God-Emperor's mission was complete, and now all that was left was for the Emperor to return to the dawn of the Imperium and end the Long War before it could even begin. 

* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Six: Revelation**

Eyes blazing with psychic might, the Emperor of Man turned from the Throne and began to descend the staircase to the portal he could feel opening at the foot of the Pyramid. A slow trickle of knowledge was his sole companion for the journey, and as he descended from the summit, a rudimentary timeline was forming in his mind of how the future would unfold. It showed him how the Webway project would begin and fail, and it showed him that the Four would use his absence to taint some of his greatest creations corrupt them into leading the forces of Chaos against him while he was entombed on the Golden Throne by another son's folly.

  
Some of it was laid out for him almost like a story from an outsider's perspective, while others were painfully seen from his future selves' eyes. The Emperor had never been an emotional being, millennia of loss and pain had jaded him, yet this did not mean he was devoid of compassion and love. These long-buried, yet powerful emotions were brought to bear as he watched the almost robotic Emperor of the Heresy cruelly manipulate humanity and the Primarchs. 

The Emperor of the Present had always known that unpleasant choices had to be made, and had made many of them himself throughout mankind’s history. That was not what disquieted him, the uncaring coldness of how the actions were taken was what disturbed him greatly. The correct answer was not always the right one, and this future counterpart seemed to not understand that. Humans are beings that emotion is imperative to, and by casting them off he had spelled not only his own doom but that of humanities.

Guilt and fear beat a steady rhythm in Atham’s mind as the full consequences of what he had done to ensure humanity's survival, yet would spell its doom. Even now, with the infant Primarchs growing, he could feel parts of himself slip away into the ether. The Primarchs may have been saved from the Ruinous Powers, but he was already damned to become the heartless God-Emperor. The rituals were irreversible, and the parts of himself he believed unnecessary for his Great Work were already being bound to his Twenty Creations.

The Emperor of Mankind reached the bottom of the pyramid of the Golden Throne with a leaden heart, while visions of atrocities committed both in his name and to topple him flashed before his eyes. The Warp-Rift that would take him to his own time stood before him, pouring forth golden light and radiant psychic power. Taking a deep breath, the Emperor of Mankind stepped towards it preparing to do whatever was necessary to save humanity. 

_“STOP!”_

A voice rang out throughout the chamber. Whirling around to the source of it at literal lighting speed, the Emperor prepared to face the source of the cry. Standing a few dozen meters away at the foot of the Pyramid was an Angel. The Emperor paused mid-stride as he looked at the being. It stood nearly three meters tall and glowed with a soft golden light. Slowly, the golden-haired being moved towards the Emperor, its billowing white wings stirring softly like a bird's itching to fly.   
Focusing on the being's face the Emperor simply said: “I know you”. Flickers of memories not quite his own stirred in Athams mind.   
  


_*Battling Side by Side with the Angel against Xeno Hordes*  
  
_

_*Crowning the Warmaster for his Triumph as the Angel and his brothers watched.*  
  
_

_*A Daemon infested Ship where the monstrous Avatar of Chaos stood over the Broken Angel*_

Recognition dawned on the Emperor's face as he focused past the being’s psychic glow and saw its face. He was handsome like an ancient Terran portrait from the First Renaissance, yet marred by twin lines of red down its face, as if it had been crying tears of blood. The tear-stained Angel spoke again: 

“Hello, Father, or Father-To-Be. It seems the God-Emperor has succeeded in his mission, yet at the same time failed.” 

The Emperor stiffened at the being's words, he had known since the beginning of their creation that the Primarchs would view him as a parent, and in a way he was. Still, in his long life, he had buried many of his own children. Even the ones who had inherited some of his gifts. The idea of being the father of twenty superweapons disturbed him. Yet when he looked upon the being before him and all the memories of its triumphs and tragedies, a mix of pride and grief welled within him. Speaking softly, the Emperor asked: “How do you yet live Sanguinius? I have seen the memories. You fall facing Horus.”

A soft, sad smile appeared on the Great Angel’s face as he spoke. “Indeed, I am dead. Horus struck me down and my soul flew into the Immaterium. There, the being you knew as Sanguinius became one with The Emperor, and a piece of his lost compassion returned to Him.” Visions flickered once more before the Emperor's Eyes.

_*The Tainted Horus laughing psychotically as the Dark Gods channeled there might through the Warmaster as he rained blow after blow onto Him*  
  
_

_*Begging his once favorite son to stop, to try and reclaim his humanity*  
  
_

_*The Single Soldier, an old friend and a martyr, stepped before his prone, weeping from and Horus*  
  
_

_*The cruel laugh of Horus as he butchered the first to hold the line which turned to a scream as the Emperor of Mankind cast out his newly reclaimed humanity and struck with the full might of the being known as the Anathema*_

The Spirit of Sanguinius continued: “You regained your humanity with my death, and cast it aside once again to slay Horus and strike back at the Great Enemy. Yet I did not fade into the eternal Storm of the Warp but became sheltered in your light. Where much to my surprise, I discovered others like me. You are the Anathema: Bane of Chaos and Lord of the Sane. We are your sons, your shards, and even those who fell the furthest were born of you and all that was good in them could not be destroyed in their ascension but simply... banished elsewhere.”

Golden Light flared from the Angel's wingtips and in a brilliant flash, other phantoms entered the Chamber. The Emperor looked over them and recognized each from his gifted memories. The Spirits of the Primarchs who had been slain and untaintable Shards of the Daemon Primarchs ringed The Emperor. 

The Chorus of Fallen Demi-Gods spoke as one: “Father who failed us and who we failed, we offer the only thing we can to save the galaxy. The Humanity you gifted to us we now return to you. So that maybe this Final Revelation may allow Good to exist once again” In great billowing currents of Warp Energy the Primarchs surrendered themselves to rejoin with their creator.

Tears began to flow down the Emperor's face. Fragments of power and emotion poured into his soul. He had not just simply restored to his original state but had been empowered. Closing his eyes he felt the Pillars of psychic flame within his soul that had once been Primarchs, like great spouts of fire that supported and reinforced his Nova-like Soul. Yet looking past the psychic inferno smaller sparks of energy flitted in and about him. The Emperor smiled softly as he realized the nature of the swarms of sparks. They were souls, Quintillions of human souls bound to him to both empower him and to protect them.

  
The Emperor was ancient, as old as human civilization, he had been there watching from the shadows throughout it and gently guiding it back on track when it was necessary. Yet throughout history, he had faced a consistent nemesis that not only stymied humanity with superstition, hate, and fear but allowed Darker much more nefarious forces to influence his species. This foe was all the worse because anytime he intervened in human history it grew exponentially. This foe was Religion

Yet for all of its crimes and cruel acts the facet that bothered him the most about it was the use of the Afterlife to control and manipulate people. The reason for this is quite simple. For the Emperor is the Human Afterlife. 

The Being that would eventually be known as the Emperor of Mankind had been created by the eldest and most powerful human Psykers to protect humanity not just from material but immaterial threats. Every human soul not touched by one of the countless threats of the immaterial joined with him in death. Now the souls of fallen Primarchs and of those slain battling in the Grim Darkness of the far-future were safe, bound with him to escape the encroaching endtimes of this reality. 

Opening his eyes the Emperor saw that two figures still stood before him. An Armored Angel and a Metal Armed Burning Giant. Two Fragments of the Primarchs were still bound to the God Emperor to battle alongside the Imperiums Angels and Daemons in the wars to come. The pieces bowed before the Emperor and faded out of the Materium.

  
Taking a deep breath The Reborn Emperor of Mankind turned to the Portal and stepped back into his own time. Energy flowed over him as he felt his soul shooting back through the Warp Current that linked the 41st and 30th Millenia. In A blast of energy, the Emperor returned to the Laboratory. 

Opening his eyes he looked around the chamber. It was exactly as it had been before, turning to Malcador who stood firm his own psychic might at the ready if the unthinkable had happened and the Emperor had gone mad. Asking in a hoarse whisper that still conveyed his natural authority and charisma he said: “How long was I gone?” 

Malcador softly said: “Seconds at the most, a blast of light filled the room when you touched the beacon and that was moments ago. How long did it seem to you, my Lord?”

  
Moving slowly with measured movements The Emperor began to walk towards the Infant Primarchs as he spoke: “Hours, maybe a day at most. You were correct Malcador, this message was meant for me and me alone.”

  
Malcador was worried. Something was different, The Emperor's psychic power seemed muted, weakened from its normal incredible state. The Sigillite alone knew certain secrets and contingencies designed to counter the Emperor if the impossible occurred and he became a threat to the human species. These various plans floated through his ancient mind as he continued to speak to his friend and Master.

“Where is the message from and who is the source?” asked Malcador.

The Emperor's lips parted in a sad smile “It comes from me, a version of me from the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries That Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.” 

“Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.” 

“To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. I learned of this time from my future self and the lessons of that age are horrific. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.”

* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Seven: Shifting Fates**

Malcadors Eyes widened as the Emperor spoke, for with each word that the new Master of Mankind said thousands of psychic images filled his mind. Visions of a grim and dark future where humanity was enslaved to fear and suffering. The swirling cloud of memories and plans was transmitted to both Malcador and Valdor. 

A Sharp crack resounded throughout the chamber as the shaft of Valdors Spear shattered under his grip. The Custodes are calm collected beings that have nearly perfect emotional control, Valdor: the greatest of them was seething with incandescent rage. The very idea of such failure to protect the Emperor was antithetical to his very being. Speaking quietly to his closest companion the Emperor said: “This future will not occur, the knowledge I have gained will allow humanity to ascend. The Great Enemy has been thwarted.”

Letting out a shuddering sigh Malcador slumped a little onto his staff. In a shaky voice he asked his oldest friend and the one being he had absolute faith in “What now?” To the surprise of both Sigillite and Captain-General a smile crossed the Emperor's perfect features. Placing a hand on the nearest Gestation Capsule he gazed at the fetus growing inside. The tiny being slept half-formed. Yet even now small wings could be seen protruding from Primarch IX’s back. 

Watching the being that in an alternate future would stand at the gates of the Imperial Palace the Emperor spoke: “We are going to continue as planned, except for a few variations of course. The Great Crusade will need to be delayed slightly but with all Twenty Primarchs leading from the start, we will be well within acceptable parameters. We will reach Ullanor in time and in a much stronger position than we originally planned.” 

“Malcador, unification is well underway and the Astronomicon is past the initial stages. Begin drafting groundwork with the Terrawat Elders for revisions on the design. Expect a much more considerable amount of Psychic backlash during the ignition and possible God-Forging possibilities related to it. Also, arrange the subtle elimination of these individuals” A shoal of data entered Malcadors mind about various problematic members of the New Imperium. From leaders of future rebellions to corrupt officials whose actions assisted the Heresy of the alternate future. Nodding solely the Grand-Master of Assassins prepared to carry out his duty.”

Turning to Constantine Valdor the Emperor touched the broken spear Valdor still held and the adamantium-auramite alloy healed. “This Spear has served you well Constantin, but I believe something new is in order.” Unsheathing his own blade the Emperor handed it to Valdor. Dropping to one knee the Custodes received the incredible gift. As it touched Valdor's hands the blade shifted. Turning from a Golden Longsword into a shining spear. “You are my Spear, and you should wield a fitting weapon for the Wars to come.” Honored beyond words the Captain-General received the weapon that would eventually be known as the Apollonian Spear.

As he motioned for the Custodes to stand and be at ease the Emperor spoke: “I face a slight conundrum Constantine, What to do about the Prototypes?” The Emperor, of course, spoke of the Thunder Legions, the brutal half-mad berzerkers that had conquered Terra in the Emperor's name yet were unsuited for the next phase of the Emperor's plans. Something would be needed to be done. 

Valdor had regained his perfect composure and responded: “My Lord, are you going to change the plans in motion to deal with them?” Sighing softly The Emperor shut his eyes before speaking “They have served me well, putting them down like rabid dogs is not a fate befitting those who laid the groundwork for my great plan.” Thinking back to the memories he had seen, how the euthanization of the Thunder-Warriors would help push the Primarchs and their Legions into heresy and treachery

The Emperor's eyes flashed open and he calmly said: “Another solution must be reached, I will not allow the Bedrock of the Imperium to be the Blood of Martyrs.” Leading Valdor and Malcador out of the chamber he continued to speak to both of them. “They will continue to die off but after their final battle, they will not be purged. Other uses will be found. Ensure Arik Taranis survives that battle. I have plans for the Lighting-Bearer to-be.” 

After giving a few additional orders to his Right Hand and Spear the Emperor was confident the Unification Wars would be finished without any more direct intervention. Now he to far more delicate tasks to tend to personally. The Conclusion of the Primarch Project, and the Astronomicon. The First would be the more difficult of the two. Altering there genomes this late in the project could spell disastrous results. Yet he knew the risks were well worth the rewards. 

Months past as the last battle of Terra raged and The Emperor worked tirelessly. Even the greatest of the Luna Gene-Smiths who assisted him barely understood the esoteric methods being used. Science and Sorcery beyond anything ever seen in the galaxy were wielded in perfect tandem. The Primarchs were slowly being reforged on both the physical and spiritual levels. 

All twenty infant Primarchs had their minds, bodies and genetic legacies enhanced III’s Geneseeds neurological issues caused by its extreme purity were cured. VIII and XIX had there geneseed rebuilt from the ground up to fix its deficiencies. XVIII and XIX had there Malfunctioning Melanchromic Organs repaired and VI’s reliance on additional Genetic modification was lessened. 

These and countless other changes were being made to the infants who slumbered inside there artificial womb. Including two that affected all of them, and hopefully be the masterstroke to prevent there fall into heresy. First, the maturation enhancers had been removed, the Primarchs would grow at the rate of normal human children. The additional decades required would be costly to the timeline required for Humanity to survive but having the Primarchs be actual sane, healthy adults not just overgrown transhuman children would be more than worth it.

The Other change that had yet to occur weighed heavily on the Emperor, it would limit them, make the already distant Transhumans a little less human. He would soulbind them to him. Protect them under his psychic bastion. Yet the idea of using such a powerful and horrific ritual on them… it left a bad taste in the Emperor's mouth. Shaking his head a deep sigh left the Emperor's lungs. Regaining his humanity had left chinks of morality and ethics in him that needed to be dealt with. 

Moving to the center of the chamber the Emperor prepared his Psychic Might, to touch his creations and brand their souls as extensions of the Anathema. Reaching out with feelers of light he touched each Infant Primarch and prepared to enact the ritual that would burn a mark into the Primarchs very soul. Like a Patriarch of one of the old faiths, he prepared to sacrifice his sons. Yet with both this case and that of Abraham and Isaac, an angel intervened. 

A faint psychic voice spoke: “What are you doing father?” XV was awake. The most physically powerful of the twenty asked again: “What are you doing father?” The Emperor allowed his psychic corona to die down as he walked over to the infant. The being that in a certain timeline would be known as Magnus the Red peered at his creator with both psychic and natural sight. Softly the Emperor spoke to his creation. “Saving you and your brothers from the darkness.” Taking a deep shuddering breath he continued “Forgive me, my… my Son” 

Just as he had declared his bond with his Twenty Creations, nay his Twenty Children the Emperor of Mankind reached out to cripple them in order to save them from the touch of Chaos. The Infant Magnus could feel the colossal psychic power surging forth and his own precognitive powers kicked in. Seeing a future where he and his brothers had their souls broken and reformed, their emotions and humanity crippled. With them being naught more than weapons instead of Humans.

In a desperate psychic plea, Magnus said: “Please Father, don’t do this.” Looking upon his children, innocent and helpless the Emperor fell to his knees. Tears streaming down his face. He could not do it. He could not do what he needed to do. The Emperor of mankind had regained his humanity for better or worse. Stuck between two horrific options. Leaving his children unprotected from the predations of Chaos or maiming them into becoming little more than servitors in Transhuman bodies. 

For an unknown period of time, the Emperor knelt there agonizing between his options until inspiration struck. The Emperor had suffered through the horrors of the Age of Strife, where mankind was at its weakest and worst. When everything he had ever strived for became dust. In that age of horrors, he had forgotten the truest tenant of being human. When faced with no good options, you make another.

Binding his soul to the Primarchs would to irreparable harm, yet binding souls of similar power… That would provide a measure of protection while not causing the grievous harm he feared. The Emperor had seen in the far future where bonds of loyalty and brotherhood protected all from his Angels of Death to the lowliest soldier. He was going to forge quite literal ones between his children. 

Turning to Magnus he reached out mentally to him and spoke “There is another way my Son. Another way to turn back the darkness.” Stretching out his soul to touch each of the Primarchs he felt the shards of himself within each and every one of them. Fragments that empowered them but not strong enough to protect them, until now. In a display of warp-craft unrivaled except for a few of the truly great acts of the Ancient Eldar the Emperor of Mankind linked The Primarchs souls into a great chain. An unbreakable chain of brotherhood to unite his sons against the coming Darkness. 


	3. Thunder and Lighting (Ch 8-9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thunder Warriors meet their fate and the Church of the Lighting Stone has a visitor.

**Chapter Eight: Thunder from Below** **  
**

Terra's atmosphere had been ravaged, repaired, and ravaged again throughout the Millennia. Yet even the polluted irradiated sky of the Age of Strife possessed the ability to create a particular phenomenon that had frightened and enchanted Humans for as long as the species has existed: Thunderstorms.  
  
One of these storms raged over The Caucasus Wastes of Terra. Bolts of lightning crashed against the nation-sized forcefield that sheltered the domain of the Ethnarchy. Countless armies both Imperial and otherwise had been broken trying to crack open the Hollow Mountains of the Ethnarch. Yet the Imperium of Man would not be dissuaded and now the full might of the greatest power on Terra was arrayed against the Ethnarchy.  
  
It was at this precipice of war that Arik Taranis and the last of the Thunder Legions arrived. Exiting his transport Arik looked to the sky just as a blast of lightning illuminated the night sky.  
  
"How perfectly proper" the Ancient Thunder Warrior quietly mused as literal lighting bolts of unification erupted overhead the last obstacle for Terran unity. Gesturing to his command squad to follow him Taranis headed towards the command bunker at the center of the impromptu base. Bracing himself psychologically the Gene-Wrought Giant prepared to meet with his Creator and Liege. Despite hundreds, if not thousands of meetings with the Emperor first contact still rattled the old warrior. The Emperor did not disappoint and the sheer mental impact of his presence was enough to throw the jaded warriors off-kilter for a moment.  
  
Arik recovered from the bombardment of stimuli first and was the first to kneel before the Emperor of Mankind, who stood before a hololithic table discussing strategy and plans with his various generals. It has been months since the Emperor had served on the frontlines worrisome rumors had begun to sprout about his disappearance. Looking up from the display the Emperor acknowledged the Thunder Warriors, allowing them to stand.  
  
Moving to speak with his Champion among the Thunder Legions the Emperor saw glimpses of a possible future as he looked into the face of Taranis.  
  
 _*The Thunder Warriors butchering thousands easily on the fields of Franc till the ground had turned into a lake of blood.*  
  
*Psychotic rage leaving the faces of the survivors of Mount Ararat as they realized there time had come*  
  
*A handful of the tortured broken warriors scattered to the wind as there bodies and minds fractured under their own might*  
  
*Sons of Traitors encountering the Lighting Bearer deep within Terra, his body and face a mass of scars and cancerous lesions. Ruined armor clinging to his titanic bulk as he sat upon a throne of scrap ruling over a kingdom of filth*_  
  
Placing his hand upon Arik Taranis's shoulder the Emperor spoke softly to his rapidly breaking prototype: "The time has come Arik. The time for the final war of the Thunder Legions." The somber sadness that marred the Emperor's perfect visage surprised Arik more than the knowledge that came with it. He had expected a brutal cull or being locked away and rot. Not in a simple yet cruelly kind opportunity to do what they had been built for.  
  
Taranis knew his death was coming for a long time. He had expected this order ever since the first of his sons had died from his own body ripping itself apart. Every time a Thunder Warrior lost any semblance of sanity and butchered allies and civilians or when an Apothecary opened up an ailing Warrior and found his body to be naught but a mess of tumors. The Emperor's blade edged closer to the necks of himself and his soldiers.  
  
The saga of the Thunder Legions was ending and The age of strife was at its close. They had been built to usher out that era of insanity and barbarism yet they were as much part of it as the countless monsters and madman that they had battled. Now they would do their duty and crush the last shadow of ancient horrors dwelling within humanities cradle.  
  
Mission data and tactical assessments poured from the generals and strategists of the Emperor's inner circle into the Thunder Legion Officers as did new equipment born of both Terrawat and Martian technology into the hands of there soldiers. They were to burrow beneath the surface of Terra to reach the mythical source of the Ethnarchies power: The Tempest Galleries  
  
Millions of Soldiers kept up the offensive on the barrier, artillery rained day and night in a nonstop barrage designed not just to simply weaken the void shield but distract the defenders from the true assault. Armored in upgraded power armor and wielding a menagerie of powerful weapons the Thunder Legions were ready to strike. 25,000 Warriors, The last five Stormhosts had been assembled under Arik Taranis and were ready to bring the Emperor's wrath upon any and all who would stand against them.  
  
There transports to the subterranean Tempest Galleries were reverse-engineered Martian vehicles called Termites. Massive burrowing ships built to survive the most punishing environments in the known universe. Ghota, Taranis's second: looked skeptically at the collection of vessels all primed to pierce Terra's crust and let out a sound that was a mix of a growl and a groan. Over a secure vox with his Commander, he expressed his concern.  
  
"Sir, you know as well as I do that at least a tenth of our forces is teetering on the brink. Is there any other option than cramming us into those half-finished rust buckets and hoping half our army does not go insane or literally rip itself apart?" Barely reacting to his Equerry's worries Arik simply said "There are contingencies in place"  
  
Hoping he was not bluffing Ghota shrugged his shoulders and took his place in one of the Restraint mounts within the lead Termite. The old Thunder Warrior noted that the design of the seats seemed similar to various dropships and grimaced at the irony of a Thunder Warrior: Storm Incarnate, Conqueror of the Heavens and master of the Deep Strike meeting his end below the world's surface in some bizarre parody of a tactical insertion.  
  
Buckling in and plugging his armor into the surrounding machinery, Ghota's eyes suddenly felt heavy, looking around frantically he saw his Battle-Brothers slumping into there restraints one after another and he could feel his mind fading. Swearing in countless Terran tongues he frantically tried to break free. Looking up to where he had last seen Taranis. Ghota saw the legendary warrior sitting casually and unaffected, watching his sons passing out. Realization dawned upon Ghota, this was the contingency. With those final thoughts, he passed out.  


* * *

  
**:Thirteen Hours Later and 37 Kilometers beneath Terras Surface:**

  
  
Ghota awoke to screaming alarms and the deep thudding of Bolter-fire. As he groggily struggled out of his restraints three things hit him at once. First, even with his armors climate systems, he felt as if he was boiling alive. Second, a drug cocktail had been added to his usual pre-battle enhancers that knocked him and his Battle-Brothers out. Thirdly data feeds and tactical information was streaming into his helmet.  
  
Freeing himself he scanned his surroundings, He was the first to awaken in his termite. The rest of the First Five Retinues were steadily awakening. Yet Arik Taranis and his Praetorian Squad were missing. Confused and Disoriented Ghota begin to absorb the data pouring into his helm. Of the 50 termites that had been deployed seven had been lost on the descent, either to environmental stress or defense measures.  
  
The Termites each carried 500 Thunder Warriors and had surfaced seemingly at random into the Tempest Galleries Lower Depths. They were at the border between the planet's crust and mantle.  
  
Orders then came to Ghota telling him to rally the Retinue Squads around him and advance to a location approximately 5 klicks from there location. Settling into the mindset of a commander Ghota began to rally and rouse the various Thunder Warriors. Five squads of humanity's finest warriors were prepped and prepared to exit their craft into whatever hell awaited them.  
  
Even though the Termites hull built to withstand swimming in seas of lava they could hear the noises of battle. Weapon Fire, tearing metal, and near-constant explosions. Unsealing the Blast-Ports the Thunder Warriors exited the Craft roaring with the fury of the Emperor made manifest.  
  
Their termite had punctured the cavern floor and the Blast-Ports allowed them to clamber down upon the obsidian chamber. The realm they had arrived in was a truly insane esoteric domain that brought to mind classical images of Hell from Old Earth religions.  
  
Lava poured out of the chamber floor and flowed upwards in a parody of a waterfall. Great rivers of molten metal floated above them, suspended and manipulated by colossal electromagnetic Spindles. Bolts of lighting and billowing clouds of energized atmosphere formed a colossal storm, a never-ending Hellish Tempest for which the Caverns were named for.  
  
Yet the sight that caught the eyes of the Thunder Warriors most was the battle being waged across the titanic cavern. Thousands of Warriors battled swarms of horrific arachnoid machines. They outclassed the Thunder Warriors in both size and numbers. Ghota looked on in shock as volleys of Plasma, Melta and Volkite rounds had basically no effect upon the Machines as they charged into the Thunder Warrior lines and butchered them with brutal mining implements.  
  
In Response, a squad of Thunder Warrior wielding thunder hammers smashed into the offending machines. With superhuman blows that were comparable to artillery strikes, the Retributors pushed back the machines all while letting out psychotic roars of fury.  
  
Ghotas troops all moved to join the battle but they had orders elsewhere. Barking orders Ghota managed to lead his squadron away from the fight towards there rendezvous point. Looking back he watched more and more of the battling Thunder Warriors break either physically or mentally from the stress of battle. Some dropped there weapons and charged ferally into battle while others simply slumped over mid-fight.  
  
The Thunder Warriors ducked into a smaller capillary tunnel that Grav-Scans indicated would lead them towards the center of the Galleries. The new armor helped them navigate the polished tunnel that had been bored out of the earth with molten steel. Despite there attempts to be subtle they met resistance. A small patrol swarm of Tempest-Machines attacked. Ghota brought his Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield to bear while barking orders to his Battle-Brothers: "Solid projectiles only, aim for the joints. Paladins with me! Justicars cover us!"  
  
Ghota roared with transhuman fury as he smashed into the first line of the Tempest Machines. His fellow Thunder Warriors followed suit with Chain-Weapons, Power-Axes, and Thunder Hammers. Blow after blow rained down on the Machines, shattering there hardy internal components and buckling exoskeletons designed to swim in lava.  
  
Some machines tried to climb along the tunnel walls to pincer the Paladins but the Justicars reigned death with Penetrator Bolt-Rounds preventing any such attempts to buckle the front line of warriors. Unlike the ailing berserkers in the main cavern, these squads were composed of the elite of the Thunder Legions. Warriors who had faced the worst horrors of the Age of Strife and won.  
  
Yet even these elites could feel their bodies wearing under the stress of battle. Ghota thought to himself as he barely dodged a Machines mono-molecular appendage blade "This used to be so much easier"  
  
After the brief firefight concluded the Thunder Warriors advanced. They had lost five warriors, their gear had been salvaged and they had been given Honored Deaths. Marching forward they stormed the tunnels. Eventually, after a few hours of navigating the volcanic Labrinth and tunnel skirmishes, they reached their destination.  
  
A grand chamber carved from Adamantium and inlaid with Obsidian stood before them. Ten tunnels lead into the chamber each turning into a silicate bridge that was suspended over a pool of molten metal that served as the chamber's floor. Ghota cautiously led his Battle-Brothers towards the center of the chamber where the ten bridges intersected. As they neared it a deep rumbling growl echoed throughout the Chamber.  
  
In an explosion of Lava and lighting something colossal breached the Pools surface. Easily the size of a Titan. Black-Diamond scales shimmered and its mechanical maw opened letting forth a horrific roar. Deep within the bowels of the Old Earth, they had encountered a machine built to emulate the archetypal monster: The Dragon.  
  
As one the Thunder Warriors leveled their weapons and open fire on the Wyrm. The Machine returned the favor with blasts of superheated plasma and metal that atomotized any Warrior unlucky enough to be hit. It's serpentine body wrapped around one of the bridges seeking to crush the scattering Warriors. Ghota bellowed commands as he internally cursed himself. He had followed the orders to leave the breaking and broken Warriors to there doom so they would act as a distraction while they headed to the inner core of the Galleries. Why had they been brought into this Trap?  
  
Suddenly a war-cry comparable in both volume and fury to the Dragons roar pierced the Chamber. Arriving from the opposite tunnel Arik Taranis: the Throne Slayer alongside his Praetorians had arrived. With a Paragon-Blade handcrafted by the Emperor himself in one hand and a Thunder Hammer in the other Taranis leaped at the beast. Moving with speed and skill unrivaled except for Valdor and the Emperor himself Taranis Jumped off the bridge onto the Dragon.  
  
Using his Blade as a parody of a Climbing-Spike he scrambled up the Machines side, leaving deep gouges in its exoskeleton as he went. The Lord of the Thunder Warriors shouted over the Vox for his forces to open fire at the Machines sensors. Obliging their Commanders will. Ghota and the Praetorians emptied countless rounds into the Wyrm's eyes and face. In response it attacked more violently, pulverizing entire squads of Thunder Warriors with a single lash of its tail.  
  
Undeterred Arik Taranis proved his mettle as Champion of the Emperor by reaching the Machines head. Slashing its left sensors and leaving his blade stuck within its glassen eye he propelled himself to stand between the creature's horns. Roaring with the fury of a Storm-God he brought the Thunder Hammer down upon the beasts mechanical skull.  
  
With a blow that would have shattered a mountain-range, he split open the Volcanic Dragons skull. Imploding its Silicon-based brain and shattering most of its internal machinery. The Chamber shook with the blow and cracks spread across the Adamantium walls. Leading out a death howl the Dragon began to slump over. Arik Taranis dislodged his Sword from the monster's corpse and rode its collapse onto one of the bridges.  
  
Stepping off the corpse onto the Bridges without making even note of the impossible feat he had just done Arik Taranis checked his Helms display and lead his Sons out of the Dragons Lair, and into the Inner Sanctum of the Master of the Galleries.  
  
Ghota caught up with his Commander and simply asked "This is it isn't it? The Final Mission?" Instead of responding Arik turned to the 300 or so remaining Thunder-Warriors and spoke:  
  
"My Sons, we have long known our end was nigh. We have served the Emperor valiantly in the quest for unification but we were not built to conquer the Stars nor protect humanity as its finest soldiers. Nay, we were forged to destroy and crush the worst of the Old Night as Warriors! We are dying, all of us and our Emperor has given us an opportunity. The Opportunity to not go out as deceased weaklings, but as Warriors!"  
  
This truth dawned on them and as one the last of the Thunder Legions roared in triumph and celebration. Together they marched into the center of the Tempest galleries. The Dragon had been the last line of defense for there foe, now a simple pair of Adamantium-Alloy doors stood before them. Arik turned to his advisor and Equerry and said: "Ghota, would you do the honors?" A deep animal grim split Ghotas face as replied "gladly sir" He charged the doors and with all his might he smashed them open with a titanic blow of his Thunder-Hammer.  
  
Before them stood a titanic Machine. An Abominable Intelligence that screamed in binary for its guardians and caretakers to return to it. Arik has slain numerous such monsters throughout the unification wars and he knew the simplest way to. Casually as if he was tossing an empty nutrient canister into disposal he lobbed a collection of Vortex Grenades into the Chamber.  
  
The Warp opened up and swallowed the colossal machine. With the maestro of the Galleries gone they started to collapse almost instantly. Machines that had functioned perfectly for millennia ground to a stop and started to buckle. Service and Defense Machines stopped mid-movement and collapsed like puppets with there strings cut.  
  
As soon as they had confirmed the A.I.'s destruction the Thunder Warriors began there retreat. Entire Chambers began to collapse around them as more and more of the ancient complex buckled under the fury of Terra's core. They moved with superhuman speed, back towards the termites. Giving honorable deaths to the wounded so they would not slow them down.  
  
At last, they reached one of the operational vehicles and the Thunder Warriors entered there only escape. Frantically they tried to start the damaged machine and after a few horrifying seconds where the chamber began to buckle around them. The Cogitator responded. Using pre-programmed orders the Termites automatically burrowed out of the chamber and headed for the surface.  
  
Once they seemed well on their way and the horrors and insanity of the Tempest galleries were kilometers behind them Ghota sat beside Arik and asked: "Where were you when I awoke?" Removing his helmet the ancient warrior looked at his second with tired eyes as he spoke: "I needed to make arrangements, Those who were already falling apart needed to be put down less they endanger us all and those who were closest to the brink needed to be arranged so even if they went mad during the battle they would do their duty."  
  
Looking out at the Thunder Warriors surrounding him he continued "Even the selected few to carry out the mission are at risk. Keep an eye out on the trip home Ghota, we are not safe yet." The Thunder Warriors removed their armor and began to socialize. Telling stories and comparing records of battles and tales. Hours ticked by and for a tragically brief period of time the Warriors enjoyed the camaraderie and companionship afforded only too brothers in arms.  
  
Sadly such solace was not to last. Tragedy struck when Decimator Baktash begins to tell a story of how he had been part of the frontline charge with Gardus Steelsoul against the Cyber-Thralls of the Droog-Lord. "There we were, all Five thousand of us against the rotten bastards when...when...when" Baktash's eyes glazed over and for a split second the sheer weight of the horrors he had seen and perpetrated crashed into his decaying mind. He let loose a pained howl and lept at one of his brothers.  
  
Baktash sunk his fingers into the eyes of one of his closest comrades and bit open the main artery of his squad's officer before he was put down. Within the relatively cramped chamber, the stink of blood and battle-hormones was thick. A painful silence filled the Termite before another Thunder Warrior began to shake with hallucinations of long distant foes. He was put down almost instantly and the smell of blood and sight of the dead began to worm its way into the minds of the Thunder Warriors.  
  
For another hour tense silence and fear cast a pall over the surviving Thunder Warriors. The quiet was broken by the ugly sound of breaking bones. A Warrior fell to his knee as his left tibia and fibula shattered funder the power of his own tensed muscle. That proved to be the final straw.  
  
Carnage erupted as half-mad berserkers lept at their brothers who could feel the same madness creeping into their minds as they fought off there deranged former friends and Battle-Brothers. Arik and Ghota were back to back as veterans of the Unification Wars butchered each other in a wholesale slaughter brought on by disease and trauma.  
  
It was a gruesome melee, there weapons and armor were locked away so the battle was conducted with hands, feet, and teeth. Ghota screamed with futile rage as he crushed one of his Squad Mates skulls all while impotently begging him to regain some semblance of sanity. Arik kept calm simply saying over and over "this would be a good death" as he slaughtered his Sons. Yet after nearly an hour of feral combat, all that was left in the Termite alive was Arik covered head to toe in his Gene-Sons blood and a wounded Ghota slumped against the wall. Speaking more to himself than Ghota or the corpse that pooled around them Arik softly said "But not good enough"

  
Ghota patched himself up with the medical supplies available and watched Arik carefully. After a bit, Ghota asked, "Why am I still alive." He had watched the carnage and madness overtake his Brothers but it had not claimed him. Shrugging his soldiers Taranis responded: "Luck of the draw, one in a billion odds of being especially compatible with the Augments."

  
Ghota had never inquired much about his Commander's past and history, that was not his duty but he decided there was nothing to lose and asked. "So you're like me a one in a billion?" Looking back at Ghota Arik wore as quizzical look. "I figured you were smarter than that and would have figured it out in all these long years." In a display of sudden surprising rage, he ripped off his breastplate to show Ghota the mark tattooed over his heart. It was barely visible beneath the pattern of scars on his chest. It was the Gothic Numeral for Zero within a twin-headed bird of prey.

  
In a voice that was a mix of anger and strangely pride, Arik spoke of his creation and purpose. "I was crafted by the Emperor himself as the First of the Thunder Legions, and Gene-Sire of them. The prototype for his true-born creations and doomed to die along with my sons' thanks to being an unfinished thing." Throwing his battered plumed helm to the floor the gigantic warrior collapsed next to Ghota and continued. " I was sworn to secrecy, to never tell the fate I knew was mine for I had a duty to do."  
  
Stunned Ghota asked "Then why are you telling me this? If the Emperor himself swore you to secrecy then why?" A Cruel smirk appeared on Arik's lips "Cause Frak him and his scheming manipulative egotistical ways."Ghota was still stunned at the plainly treacherous words and before another word could be said Arik started to laugh. A deep growling noise that seemed impossibly at odds at the scene of blood and carnage surrounding them.

  
"I have waited literal centuries to say that damn sentence Ghota. CENTURIES! The Emperor of Mankind is an egotistical manipulative control freak who spends lives like currency and subtly controls everything around him. Yet the worst part, the absolute worst part of the Grox-plowing bastard is he is right. What he does is the best damn way forward and he knows it." With those words, Arik Taranis: The Throne Slayer admitted the truth of his Master.  
  
Eight hours later at a Dormant Volcano near Klostzatz, the Termite broke the surface. It was quickly detected by Imperial Scouts who had been waiting for it. The message made its way back to the dying battlefields of the Caucasus Wastes, where the Imperium was finishing off the last remnants of the Ethnarchy. The Emperor had just finished overseeing the transport of the Ethnarch himself to Khangba Marwu when the message arrived.  
  
Flanked by Custodians, Remembrancer and various hangers-on the Emperor arrived at the sight of the surfaced Termite. Soon after they did The main Blast-Port opened up and Twin figures clambered out. Arik with Ghota slung over his shoulder. Slowly they approached the Emperor. A cluster of medics swarmed Ghota looking to patch up the wounded Warrior. Ensuring his Equerry was in good hands Arik Taranis walked up to the Emperor.  
  
Creator and Creation stared at each other for a solid second before Arik struck the Master of Mankind with a punch that would have cracked open a main battle tank. It mildly fazed the Emperor and before even Taranis's transhuman senses could detect twelve guardian spears hovered above his vital spots. To that Arik simply gruffly shouted, "Fine then, do it!"  
  
The Custodes almost obliged before the Emperor stopped them. In a voice filled with somber aloofness, the Emperor spoke to the Ur-Primarch. "No Arik, the Thunder Legions war may be over but you still have a role to play."

* * *

* * *

####  **Chapter Nine: The First Temple**

Uriah Olathaire was old, not just physically but mentally and spiritually. He could feel the weight of the years in his bones and upon his soul. Ironically he had not lived as many years as some and was just entering the second half of his life. Yet the years he had spent alive were especially harsh ones. Wars had been fought, families lost, homes burned and ways of life driving to extinction.

These thoughts occupied the old Priest of the Church of the Lighting Stone as he extinguished candles and cleaned the old place of worship. Uriah had joined the creed as a young man and had watched as his congregation had shrunk with each passing year. The Emperor's “truth” saw to that. Religion had been declared the enemy, a source of woes and misery. Every Month new reports came in of great Cathedrals and Temples being looted, converted, and torn down. 

Horror stories of clerics and Cardinals being dragged away into the night persisted, with many religious sights becoming abandoned due to their clergy fleeing the Emperor's minions. Some of Uriah’s more devout partitioners had asked and even begged to help him flee the purges. He had turned each and every one of them down. Telling each that “I have lived for this church and if need be I will die for this church” 

Eventually even those most devout had stopped coming, the past few weeks Uriah had been alone in the ancient building. With nothing but the crashing of the seas waves and ancient scripture for company. Letting out a deep sigh the Old Priest went to lock the great oaken doors of the building. Right as he approached them a knock sounded at the door. 

Sighing to himself Uriah went to the door, wondering who could have come calling at this late hour. The doors swing open and a man stood before Uriah. Clothed in the uniform of an Imperial Officer the raven-haired man struck an imposing figure. The Man looked into Uriah’s eyes and the Priest had the unpleasant sensation that he was being studied like a scientific specimen being prepared for dissection. A subconscious shiver ran up Uriah’s spine at the thought. 

The strange man reached out his hand to shake Uriah’s and spoke: “You are Father Uriah Olathaire: Priest of the Lighting Stone Church correct?”

Refocusing and shaking off the momentary anxiety Uriah took the stranger's hand and spoke: “Yes, and you are?” “You can simply call me Revelation.” 

Uriah scoffed at that “How ominous, what can this old priest help you with Revelation?” 

A momentary pained expression crossed the Stranger's face before he continued “I seek your counsel.” Revelations inflection stunk of disdain, and he was obviously disgusted with the idea. 

Uriah had seen pride and ego of countless varieties throughout his tenure and he could easily recognize the signs of a man who detested asking for help. A kind smile appeared on the priest's face and he spoke “Of course my son. Come in, come in!.” 

Uriah led the man toward the pews and noticed the Stranger examining the various frescoes and paintings that adorned the Church. Uriah smiled, the art of the church had long been something he had enjoyed and loved sharing with worshippers. Revelation pointed at a trinity of paintings that took up one of the walls “Isandula Verona’s work? I have not seen some of hers in many years”

Uriah’s face brightened “It's been decades since someone recognized her work. One of my predecessors was gifted that piece after she attended one of his sermons” The three paintings showed iconic scenes from the Church's creed. The first depicted nude figures within a utopian garden. The Second, an epic duel between a Golden Knight and a Silver Dragon. The last showed a being made of light surrounded by a mechanical halo. 

The Stranger continued to state for a minute before he turned to the priest and spoke: “Do you know what has been the fate of the grand temples of Terra?” Uriah eyed Revelations uniform and begin to wonder if this visit was more sinister in nature than he originally thought.

The Old Priest sighed and spoke “Yes, they have been destroyed by the Emperor and his legions. Is that why you have come? To destroy my Church like all the others have been?” At that Revelation's eyes seemed to lose all emotion and he spoke: “Yes, but your council is required as well.” 

Revelation walked up to the altar and continued speaking “Do you know how many Churches exist on Terra? How many Priests are left?”

Barely processing the news of his impending eviction and possible execution Uriah spoke “A few hundred? A few thousand? Your Master has been through in his mission from what I hear.” 

At that, a snort of derision escaped Revelation “Only one of each remains.” He gestured to Uriah and the building they were in “The Last Church and the Last Priest of Terra” 

Uriah felt like a hammer blow had struck him. Could he truly be the Last Priest? Could all traces of faith be scoured from Humanity's Cradle this easily? A mixture of grief and anger filled Uriah’s heart. In a bitter voice, he spat “So what council could you possibly seek from me? You serve the regime that has more successfully extinguished the light of faith and salvation. What in the name Yeshua Crossed could you want from me?” 

Bitterness filled Revelations face as he spoke “I want to know if I was wrong? I concluded that religion is a toxic dangerous thing a long time ago and time and again that conclusion has been reinforced by countless acts of insanity and zealotry I have witnessed.” Rage filled Revelations' face as he finished. 

Letting out a defeated sigh he continued “Yet despite that, new evidence has come to light. Evidence that no matter what is done humanity will seek something or someone to worship and that faith can be used. Used to protect against the darkness.” 

Uriah had met many atheists, agnostics, and naysayers throughout his career. There reasoning and believes varied and it was not atypical for him to encounter those attempting to refute his faith or rekindle their own. Revelation seemed to be both but not quite. He spoke more like a scientist questioning results than a tortured soul seeking solace in their own convictions or faith. 

Uriah slowly approached Revelation and spoke, “Tell me, my son, what has caused this change in your beliefs?” The Old Priest was not just doing his duty as a man of the cloth but genuine curiosity. The stranger who had entered his Church was obviously a high ranking member of the Imperium. Someone who should sneer at the idea of religion and laugh at the idea that it was more than a narcotic for the masses. Yet shadows of doubt encircled Revelation and a curious thought occurred to Uriah.

This stranger spoke with such authority and without fear. Someone of his position should be terrified of being discovered anywhere near a place of worship not being sacked, let alone asking a Priest for advice. Obviously Revelation was a person of great power and authority. Could his arrival be a sign from the Heavens that maybe the flames of faith were not yet doomed to be extinguished? 

Revelation spoke to Uriah in a hushed whisper: “I saw something, a vision.” At this Uriah raised an eyebrow, such things were the domain of prophets and seers. 

Many of whom had been put to death by the Imperium. “What did you see my child?” 

“I saw a future where the Emperor is worshipped as a god, where everything he stands for is perverted into a colossal theocratic nightmare where trillions of screaming fanatics live and die underneath the rule of the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind.”  The words seemed to physically pain Revelation to speak but he continued. “But the worst of it, the worst aspect of that nightmarish future where hope, reason, and logic were butchered in the name of dogma, zealotry, and oppression was that it worked. Humanity was truly united under the “Imperial Creed.” Faith protected against horrors beyond imagination, it fueled heroic acts and empowered the loyalist of mankind.” 

Revelation seemed to sag underneath some invisible burden and he slumped onto the front pew. The ancient wood groaned as if a dozen men had sat down instead of one. Uriah sat next to his guest and said softly “I am no prophet nor psyker but I could predict such a vision perfectly.” The Priest gestured around them as he spoke “Humanity has sought to believe in a higher power for as long as we have existed. Believe offers both protection and answers to countless questions. It grants solace and if that solace is denied the yearning for it becomes simply greater.” 

At that Revelation snapped “Yet I have given them exactly that. Protection from every evil and abomination to stalk the shadows. The Arts and Sciences are slowly returning to there former greatness to answer questions of both material and immaterial nature.” A mixture of fury and questioning worry-filled Revelations eyes. Uriah confused by the strange wording of Revelations outburst looked into his eyes, and was shocked at what he saw. Revelation looked no older than Forty standard years but his eyes were those of an ancient. Filled with centuries if not millennia of pain and knowledge. 

Realization and shock filled the Old Priest as the truth dawned on him. The realization of his guest's identity. The Emperor of Mankind had come to seek his counsel. Rumors had abounded for years about the age and nature of the mysterious conqueror of Terra. The man who was equal parts Tyrannical overlord and Benevolent Leader. 

Taking a deep breath Uriah gathered himself and continued “Even if you offer alternatives to what religion offers and show the world all that is negative about it people will still desire it. Religion and Faith are as old as humanity, even during the heights of the Golden Age it still existed when nearly every evil and darkness in our species had been eradicated. It is not an evil thing, but just as corruptible as so much else of being human. Humanity needs to believe in a higher power and denying that will only lead to ruin.” 

The Emperor-in-disguise looked at Uriah and sadness filled his voice: “You know who I am, I saw it within your mind when you realized the truth. No need to hide it Uriah.” 

Shutting his ancient eyes the Emperor continued “You are wrong about one thing for certain, religion is not as old as humanity. I have lived for close to Fifty Thousand Years and I remember when the first cults and tribal religions rose.” Slowly standing the Emperor walked up to the altar and stood at it like an expectant worshiper “And the idea that religion is a constant is also wrong. I am responsible for its creation and it's only fitting I am responsible for its destruction. 

Stunned silence filled the Church as Uriah processed the claim. Speaking softly the priest asked in a tone that was both incredulous and horrified “Do you mean to say you founded my faith? That you founded humanity's great religions and you see it as your duty to destroy them?” A part of Uriah, a very large part wanted to dismiss the stranger's claims. To say he was a madman, a tyrant not an immortal who had waked the ages.

Yet something stopped Uriah, some instinctive feeling, some deep-set ancestral memory locked within the human species. The mark on the human psyche left by the Emperor. Thousands of cultures throughout all of human history had tales of Mysterious Immortals, Wandering Gods, and Superhuman Monarchs. Every legend starts with a kernel of truth and something within Uriah told him the source of a million myths sat before him.

The Emperor let out a bitter laugh at Uriah’s question. “Yes, countless religions have sprung up in my footsteps. Sometimes intentionally sometimes not, but my sin is greater than inspiring a stray cult whenever I needed to take action. Humanities desire, no, need for a higher power to worship and follow is my fault.” 

Moving faster than the Priest could process The Emperor stood next to him and placed his palm on Uriah's forehead. Before anything could leave his lips golden light crashed into Uriah’s mind and everything went white.

* * *

A Voice filled with power and wisdom echoed in Uriah's mind as he drifted through a psychically created void “ **What is a god?”** Trying to get his bearings the stunned Uriah tried to speak: “G-G-God is the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being.” A deep chuckle answered that and the voice continued  **“That is a textbook description of the deity of your faith. I ask you not what your god is but what is a god?”**

After thinking for a second Uriah responded “Something powerful, something beyond humanity. A supernatural being that is worshipped.” 

To that the voice seemed to consider the answer given before speaking  **“Understandable, Many beings fit your description and have indeed been worshipped as gods throughout human history. Even so Uriah, would you consider these beings fit to worship?”**

Reality shifted again and Uriah found himself transported between countless realities. Each more horrifying than the last. 

_ * A Titanic silver monster, with wings that blotted out the Sun and eyes burning with horrid green energy sat in an ancient temple desert temple where thousands of ancient humans kneeled before it awaiting their turn to be consumed by the Dragon from between the Stars. * _

_ * Millions of Soldiers wearing incredibly advanced armor battling Billions of lobotomized corpses puppeteered by a world-sized Abominable Intelligence*  _

_ *A Godly Hive Mind that tainted and twisted all it touched. Manipulating and creating entire worlds of mutated dredges that prayed for their inevitable consumption and assimilation.*  _

_ *Shimmering bioluminescent Xenos indoctrinating world after world into becoming enthralled slaves who served their masters every whim till they were drained into desiccated husks.*  _

_ *Things made of nightmares and madness slithering out of cracks in reality to corrupt and control those desperate enough to seek it* _

These and countless more nightmarish visages appeared before Uriah. Each traumatizing and sickening the priest more than the last. For a moment the kaleidoscope of monsters stopped. The Emperor's Voice spoke again  **“Each of those abominations has claimed godhood. Each used humanity's addiction to the divine to feed itself and enslave us. I have battled many of them and intend to cut the yoke of faith away so it may never divide us nor be used by our enemies.”**

Fighting off panic attacks and the urge to vomit Uriah managed to speak: “So that's your rationale? Humanity has been manipulated and controlled by countless things, why pick out Religion as your scapegoat and target of your ire?” 

The White Space rumbled with the sound of distant thunder as the Emperor responded:  **“The god-things I showed you use faith as a mean to an end. That is not the case with the Greatest Foes, the only Foe that matters. They do not use faith to control or manipulate but to grow in power and tear down the barriers between the real and the insane”**

Four new visions appeared before Uriah at once. Four Storm of insanity and horror that swirled around him. Projections of a remembered vision muted for a mortals mind and still, they seethed with such corruption and cruelty that the Priest could feel it seeping into his very soul. Each of the monsters grasped at his soul. Leaving imprints of nightmares and all that is wrong with mortal kind upon his memory

The Hound Headed Bloody-Warrior showed visions of insanity and violence, where entire worlds were butchered in psychotic fury. A column of whispering smoke spoke of a trillion plots of betrayal and mutation. The unmistakable stench of rot filled Uriah’s nostrils as a bloated corpse dribbled diseased poison disguised as love and acceptance. Last of the four was a vision of a great winged serpent that gorged itself upon its creators and sang a song of beauty and horror. 

The quadrafold monsters were each unique and horrible in their own way but Uriah recognized a similarity between all four. There Hunger, an unending painful hunger for more and more. Never content they each sought to corrupt and control everything they could. Uriah shuddered as he regained his surroundings and realized he had fallen to his knees within the Church. Looking up he saw the Emperor standing over him and he softly asked: “What were those...things?” 

The Emperor looked off into the distant, ancient memories shrouding his mind as he spoke: “The Great Enemy, the Four great beings of the Immaterium. Each claims godhood and mastery over the universe but like all things with them, That is a lie. The Immaterium is a realm where thought is given form and reality is subject to force of will. Those four are the sins and failings of all life made sentient and malicious.” 

Uriah slowly got to his feet and spoke “So those things… they feed upon worship and you seek to eliminate religion in order to cripple them?” “Not quite, they do feed upon faith but not it alone. Every and all activities that falls under their purview feeds them, but worship is more effective. For example, the so-called “Architect of Fate” is empowered by every plan ever made, but cults of sorcerers worshipping and serving it are a far greater source of energy to glut itself” 

Trying to rid his mind of the abominable sights and thoughts born of seeing the Four Uriah asked “So why then? If they are going to keep feeding why eliminate all religions?” To that, the Emperor quietly said: “Religion offers them an opening. If people pray to the gods they hope for an answer. What do you think happens when the Four listen and answer their prayers?” New visions then entered Uriah’s mind to answer the Emperor's rhetorical questions. 

_ *Entire Cities ripping themselves apart in sickening blood orgies.* _

_ *Diseased Corpses rising from their graves to consume there friends and family.* _

_ *Blasphemous rituals tearing open wounds upon reality allowing the substance of insanity to spill over the world in a tidal wave of damnation. * _

Shuddering at the visions Uriah tried to stay standing, but his knees buckled finally under the psychological weight. The Emperor quickly caught the Priest and Uriah felt warm familiar energy enter his body and his legs could again support him. Still entranced by the saga being regaled to him Uriah asked the question that had been on his mind since before the visions the emperor had shown him. “You said humanity's need for faith is your fault. What do you mean?” 

A sadness darkened the Emperor's features as he summoned another vision to show Uriah. “You are the Last Priest of the Last Church of Terra. I have deemed it fitting for you to hear my confession. None know this tale, not even my closest advisors and friends. You being the Last Priest it seemed only right for you to hear the story of the First Temple.

With that Uriah found himself transported to an arid badlands. Sand and stone stretched as far as the eye could see. Uriah looked up and was shocked. The sky was impossibly blue, and Sol hung high in the clear sky. “Where are we?” asked Uriah, as the shock of seeing the sky hit him. Appearing next to him the Emperor responded: “Approximately thirty-five thousand years ago in a land, you know as the Achaemenid Empire.” 

As the Emperor spoke a lone figure appeared in the distance. The figure approached them and adjusted its ragged robes and Uriah saw its face. The Priest did a double-take at the sight. The strange traveler was the Emperor, a younger barely two-decade-old Emperor by the look of it. Uriah pointed at the doppelganger and the Emperor explained before Uriah could say anything.

“We are viewing my memories of this age. We are invisible witnesses to this saga of my youth.” the twin watchers of the memory followed the young Emperor through the Desert. They trudged for miles as the Emperor of the present spoke: “In my youth, I wandered Terra spreading knowledge and wisdom to the ancient tribes and early civilizations. Nothing too major just slight nudges to help technological and philosophical development.” 

“I tried to never get too involved, not to let anyone group become reliant on my presence. My purpose has always been to guide and protect, humanity can not be allowed to rely on me for it will weaken them.” Uriah raised an eyebrow at that and asked “Then why are you seeking to conquer and control humanity as its “Emperor?” A pained look crossed his face: “Despite what you and many others might think I have no desire to rule. If there was another option than the Imperium, I would take it.” 

They crested a hill with the memory-form of the Emperor and before them nestled on the shore of a great sea was an ancient city. They and the memory-form stopped and admired the primitive metropolis. The Emperor continued his narration: “I had not visited this city in about two and a half centuries. Last time I was here I helped treat a minor viral outbreak and explained a bit of basic hygiene. I had done similar across the world and thought nothing of it. So when I returned to this city nestled on the shore of the Salt Sea I was horrified by what I found”

They followed the Memory-Form towards the city. Great processions of carts and beasts of burden carried goods towards the city gates. Each was stopped and tolled by a patrol of thuggish looking guards. The Ancient Emperor joined the line and eventually reached the gates. The Guards looked the shabby robed ancient up and down. “Leave vagabond, we have no need for your kind here.” The Ancient Emperor raised an eyebrow and began to motion with his hand before a voice popped up from behind him.

“Uncle Avram so that's where you wandered off to!” A well-clothed man from the line approached and touched the Ancients shoulder. 

Calmly the man spoke to the guards: “So sorry for that, my Uncle wandered away from the caravan.” Pulling the Ancient Emperor away and directing him back to his family and servants the man continued in a whisper “He is not quite right in the head, but I promised my father I would look after him” The Guards grunted something in return. 

Uriah and the Emperor followed the generous man and the Ancient. The Ancient Emperor quietly asked the stranger “Why did you do this for me?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders “Kindness begets kindness, you are obviously not from around hear and it would be wrong to leave you out in the wilderness, especially on the day of the festival!” The Ancient shook the man's hand and asked “A festival? It seems I am just in time. You can call me Revelation by the way.” 

When the Ancient spoke his name Uriah swore he heard a thousand different words and names. Before he could ask the Emperor answered: “People have long been curious to what my name is, never considering that Revelation is not an alias but how the human mind interrupts and translates it.” 

The man unlike Uriah had a few hours or lifetimes ago did not respond to the strange name and simply said “Nice to meet you Revelation, I am Lot Ur-Haran. You are just in time for the festival of the Four. It's our greatest event that celebrates the city's salvation by the gods!” 

The Ancient then followed Lot and spoke with him and his family as they moved up the line with there farm goods they sought to sell. The Emperor began to speak as they followed the group. “At this point, small tribal faiths and city-state religions were not uncommon. Typically they worshipped nature in some form or another and my visions forecasted they would eventually die out as science and reason grew to explain the unexplainable.” 

The Ancient and Lots family finally entered the city and were soon greeted with the sound of great drums. Rhythms and songs filled the entire city in a barely organized cacophony. The ramshackle streets were crowded with thousands. The Merchants and farmers peeled off from the line heading to various parts of the city to sell their goods. The Ancient simply followed Lot and watched. This was the largest city he had visited and marveled at the metropolis. Humanity was truly growing and preparing itself for its destiny.

Eventually, the Ancient thanked Lot and split off from his entourage of family and servants to explore the city. For hours he wandered and was both entranced and worried by what he saw. Great Kilns crafted pottery that was intricate in detail but grotesque in what it depicted. Scenes of bloodshed and debauchery were carved and stenciled upon them. Filth encrusted beggars wandered the streets pleading for spare food or currency, each seemed more broken and diseased then the last. 

Eventually the Ancient heard the roar of a crowd above the cities other din and investigated as Uriah and the Emperor followed. Even through the dense scents of the city, the Ancient could smell the distinct tang of blood in the air coming from the same place as the crowds shouting. Eventually the Ancient found the source. Dug out of the earth was a crude pit where hundreds of dredges clamored at its edge to get a better view of its occupants. 

With a slight bit of psychic suggestion, the Ancient pushed to pass the crowd and felt a cold fury fill him at the sight that awaited him. Two malnourished, manacled slaves savaged each other with crude bone blades as the crowd bayed for blood and gore. Shock filled the Ancient's face as Uriah and the Emperor grimly looked on. Both of the observers had seen the worst of humanity during the Age of Strife and enslaved gladiators were just one of those horrors. Speaking softly the Emperor gestured to his younger self and said: “This was the first time such an act was witnessed by us, sadly not the last though….”

One of the slaves screamed with desperate rage and smashed his rival's skull into the stone wall of the pit over and over again. The loser's blood and brains splattered out of the arena onto the cheering crowd as they chanted as one “MAIM KILL BURN! MAIM KILL BURN! MAIM KILL BURN!” 

Disgusted and shook the Ancient quickly left the display and continued to wander the city. At each and every turn more atrocities met him. Horror and worry wormed deeper into the Ancient as he stumbled through the accursed city. What could have caused this? What was the source of this insanity?

Eventually, a familiar voice called to him “Oh good to see you again Revelation!” Lot along with his Wife and Daughters strode out of the crowd and greeted the Ancient. “The Grand ritual of the Festival is about to begin! Care to come with us to it?” Happy to see a friendly face the Ancient Emperor agreed.

Together they made it deeper and deeper into the heart of the city. Hear the drums and song was the loudest and the throngs of people become denser and denser. Eventually, they reached the Cities Great Ziggurat. Along with thousands of others, they ascended the Grand Staircase towards the highest point in the city. “What is this place?” asked the Ancient? 

Seeming to puff up with pride Lot answered: “The Great Temple of the Four, my forefathers helped lay the first stones for our great altar to the Gods!” As they reached the top a great pyre was lit. Incense and smoke filled the air as the city crowded around the inner Temple. The Pyre marked the entrance into the temple and provided lighting and projected an aura of mystic upon the Grand Temple as the sun set. 

Eventually, the Drumbeat increased in speed and it cued the thousands gathered to kneel as one before the pyre and Temple. Using a slight bit of warpcraft the Emperor stood standing while an illusion showed him kneeling like the rest. Uriah snorted at that “Pride is a constant I do believe with you.” The Emperor responded with an icy stare. 

The Drumbeat came to a climax and stopped. Out of the temple in extravagant apparel came the High Priest and his inner circle. The High Priest stood before the altar and spoke in a booming voice: “Generations ago our city was stuck with divine punishment for our Sin! Death and Doom stalked our lands and claimed whoever they liked. Countless wasted away and died under the weight of our blasphemy!”

The Ancients eyebrows shot up, was this how they remembered the plague? Then how would they remember his intervention? The Priest continued “Then the Stranger came! A prophet and Wiseman sent by the gods to lead us onto the path of righteousness! We were saved by his sacred wisdom and the gods in there eternal mercy spared us!” 

In an incredible display of controlled psychic power, the Ancient used a mix of Psychometry, Precognition and his own intellect to see into the past of the city. Both he and his watchers witnessed how a few corrupt few had twisted the tale story over the generations to better suit their master's needs…

Something was obviously twisting this city and its people to its will. The Ancient had battled with Monsters and Nightmares from beyond this world or reality before but this was beyond anything he had seen. Except… except for a few whispered memories from his predecessors 

The High Priest continued “Yet the Gods even with there mercy require assurance! The assurance we will not fall into the old ways and fail this second chance! We sealed a covenant with the Four and we must prove our worthiness! We must sacrifice something precious to us in order to show our devotion!” 

With that, a keening wail erupted from the temple. As one eight women, each carrying an infant approached the altar. Disbelieve shuddered through both the Ancient and Uriah. Could the High Priest really intend to….?

The Women, no, the mothers wore different expressions. Some were ecstatic, religious fervor enthralling them. Others appeared gaunt and dead-eyed, unwilling to accept what was about to occur. Only one sobbed and shook with fear and horror as she clutched her wailing infant to her breast. 

As one they stepped up to the Altar and were ordered to hold their infants above the blazing pyre. The High Priest Raised a Blade carved from bone above his head and roared jubilation to the gods “Praise be to the Bloody Hound, The Earthen Toad, The Feathered Magi and the Serpent of Love!”

With that, he brought his blade down on his other hand letting blood splatter out. At that gruesome signal, the Mothers dropped there infants into the roaring flames.

Prayers of adulation poured from the worshippers as the babies burned alive. The enthralled masses lacked the Ancients superhuman senses and could not hear or smell… the sheer horror of what was occurring. The Ancient stood there in shock. Yet the atrocity was not yet over.

The weeping mother had not dropped her child and held it to her chest as she sobbed out desperate pleas for her child's life. With almost casual disdain the High Priest slit her throat and pushed her and the infant into the blaze. It was that action that ripped the Ancient Emperor from his stupor. 

Time stood still for the Ancient and Uriah watched as reality slowed. Speaking with a mix of disgust and horror The Last Priest spoke: “Ah, so that's why, you blame yourself for this?”

With a voice as colder than nuclear winter, the Emperor responded: “Not exactly, the monsters of the Warp used my actions against me, but my sin is what occurs next.” 

Time returned to its proper flow and the Ancient cast down the illusion of him kneeling and stood alone among the worshippers. Before the High Priest could screech at him for his disrespect and demand his execution the Anathema’s wrath was unleashed. Warpfire concentrated into a burst of psychokinetic plasma shot forth from the Ancients Golden eyes in a blast of raw energy that the likes would not be seen on earth until the next Volcanic eruption.

Instantly the Temple the Priests and the Altar were reduced to there subatomic elements. The Corrupted may have died instantly but their souls were denied from their Masters by the Flame that consumed them agonizingly. The Innocents were spared such a fate and simply became sheltered within the Oversoul of the Anathema. Yet the Ancient had been an age and an attosecond late. The Infants and the sacrificed mother were cast into the jaws of the Thirsting Gods.

Golden light erupted from the Ancient. Uriah felt the energy wash over him and his legs buckled. It was rawer, more ferocious, and lacking the kindness of when it had healed him but the Energy was the same. The same as the divine light that had healed him and saved him at the Battle of Gaduare. Slowly turning to the Emperor he spoke in hushed tones: “You, it was you! You not only inspired my religion but my faith!” 

A somber look appeared on the Emperor's face as he spoke “Yes, you are not the first to find faith when exposed to my power. From twelve students, a Desert Merchant, The Slave Sage, and the Seventy Two Ascendent each found faith and started faiths under my influence in an attempt to stop things like this” He gestured to the atrocity before them. 

Snapping back to the memory they watched as the Ancient glowed with power beyond anything ever seen by mankind. Slowly the Anathema rose into the air and for a moment the citizens of the city looked at the psychic beacon and wondered if salvation or damnation had come to them.

The Ancient Emperor mustered his psychic might and brought something greater and more terrible than either forth. A wave of psychic might rolled off the Ancient's body in a Psychic pulse that moved faster than thought across the Earth. Each and every human across the face of the Earth was touched by the tidal wave of Psychic Energy. As one every human touched by Chaos and the whispers of the warp died.

Like marionettes with there strings cut they simply collapsed. There mind shut down telepathically and there soul scoured or destroyed. Even those not corrupted felt the touch of the Anathema across their mind and learned without a shadow of a doubt that there is a higher power, something great, golden, and powerful existed. The seeds of every messianic archetype, every king of the gods, every monotheistic deity had been planted.

Humanity had been touched by what many would call the divine and was forever altered by it. A shocked Uriah and a bitter Emperor watched as the Ancient slowly descended back to the temple ground and collapsed onto the ground. Every human being in a hundred kilometers lay dead. Two entire cities and countless villages and families had been stuck down for there sins. Every human that is for Lot and his family. 

The Ancient slowly got to his feet, still shaking with shock and grief and looked at the four he had spared. He saw a horrific mix of fear and reverence in their eyes and in a psychic whisper said: “Kindness begets kindness, run and don’t look back.” They complied and escaped the dead city as fast as they could. Trauma and religious visions filling their minds. 

The Emperor and Uriah watched the Ancient sit there with his eyes shut and could see him trying to hold back tears over what he had done. The first great disaster in human history was by his hands, and he could feel the shockwaves of his actions change the future. The Warp had been thwarted in there attempt to corrupt early humanity but at what cost?

Uriah slowly turned to the Emperor and in a half-whisper said “It all makes sense, you… you are the source of faith and you created this need in humanity in your darkest hour.” Sadness distorted the Emperor's noble features as he spoke: “I lost control, for one second I lost control and this is what happened. Throughout the millennia I have tried to master and use this mistake to protect and help humanity. Yet no matter what I do, no matter what I say more and more atrocities occur” 

The Ancient eventually got to his feet after he sensed Lot and his Family were miles away. The Immortal held out his hands and in a feat of psychic power and control the likes off never scene he telekinetically triggered atomic fusion. A Blast of Nuclear fire erupted before him and consumed the city in a wall of death and fury. It was the first time but most certainly not the last that the being that would eventually be known as the Emperor of Mankind would burn away the taint of chaos. 

As the wall of nuclear plasma engulfed them the vision faded and the Emperor Uriah stood within the Last Church once again. The Emperor seemed emotionally drained and slumped onto one of the pews. Uriah shakily joined him and they sat there in shocked silence for hours. Eventually, in a cracking voice, Uriah spoke: “You are right, religion is a mistake.” 

Slowly heaving himself to his feet Uriah continued speaking as he walked up to churches Altar “But there is a way, humanity needs something to have faith in, to believe in. Give them something to believe in and sate there need until humanity is ready to know the truth.” Almost casually Uriah picked up a guttering candle from the altar and dropped it upon the moth-eaten rug of the Church.

The fire began to spread quickly, the ancient building began to burn as Uriah and the Emperor stared at each other. “Go on then, the Last Church must burn like the First and I must go with it,” spoke Uriah in a hoarse whisper. With a somber calmness, the Emperor got to his feet and stood before Uriah. The Priest shut his eyes and awaited his end. 

It did not come, instead, golden energy flared and the emperor cast aside his illusionary form and stood before Uriah in his full glory. With surprising delicacy, the Emperor brought his armored hand to the Last Priests forehead. Golden energy-filled Uriah's body and soul. He could feel his body healing from a thousand different ailments brought on by time and hard life. In turn, his soul was purified from the touch of the Four and became armored against them. 

In a voice that commanded armies and ordered the building of empires he spoke  **“Uriah Olathaire, you are wise for a man of so few years. I will not let you burn and be forgotten like the faiths of old. You are to come with me into this future. The Shining Path is narrow and you will help me keep our species upon it** ” 

The Emperor of Mankind then turned and left the Church with the newly ordained Guardian of Truth. Together they watched the Last Church of mankind burn to the ground. Uriah then asked simply as what once was his home became ash and dust “So what now?” The Emperor was stony-faced as he responded:  **“We have a species to save.”**


	4. Let there be Light (Ch 10-11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new light shines across Terra. The Astronomicon rises and the Primarchs are born.

####  **Chapter Ten: Let there be Light**

**Date: 782.M30**

**Location: Project Beacon a.k.a. The Hollow Mountain a.k.a Restricted Zone Everest**

Malcador was an old man, a very old man. He had lived for millennia and seen much. The end of the Golden Age, the countless horrors of the Old Night and now he was both architect and witness to the next stage of human history. The Age of Imperium was coming and he was helping usher it in. 

These thoughts drifted through the Sigillite's mind as he wandered the topmost layer of the amphitheater-like structure that was known as the Hollow Mountain. A good chunk of Mt. Everest and the surrounding Himalazia’s had been hollowed out to provide a location for the next stage of the Great Work to begin. 

Ancient Vaults were being carved out of the deepest bedrock to contain the most horrific artifacts of the Old Night. Psi-War ruins had been rediscovered and were being rebuilt as a massive center of Psyker training and housing. A massive chunk of Eurasia was being prepared for the construction of one of the largest terrestrial structures in human history. All of these projects were under Malcadors perview and were parts of the greater overarching plan he and his Liege had crafted over the centuries. 

Yet the prime project within the tallest of Terras peak worried him more than any other. A massive Psychic device was being carefully constructed within Mount Everest. Huge quantities of man-power, arcane lore and beyond priceless relic from before the Fall of the Federation were being used in the construction of titanic machine.

Malcador has taken more direct control over most of the governing of the Imperium along with oversight of the numerous secondary projects while the Emperor devoted himself to finishing the Primarchs and modifying the work within the Hollow Mountain. This had not been the first time the Emperor had thrown himself into a project obsessively but some of the Emperor's behavior had worried Malcador. 

The Message had seemed to restore parts of the Emperor and the once disturbingly stoic Ubermensch seemed disquietingly human. When Malcador had first met Revelation he had seemed inhuman and more akin to a machine than man in both temperament and behavior. When the idea of the ritual to cast aside what was left of his humanity to empower the Primarchs was first discussed Malcador could not help himself from thinking “What will be different?”

Malcador had at first believed he had been accurate in his prediction. With the Emperor barely if at all changing in mindset or behavior. When the contents of the message from the so-called “God-Emperor” was revealed to Malcador he had been both horrified and strangely relieved. The future he had been shown and how close they had come to it had brought genuine fear to the Ancient Sigillite yet it confirmed something he had long suspected and hoped. Below millennia of trauma, stress, and fear was a genuine human heart and a good one at that. 

The Emperor of Mankind had tried to discard his humanity many times but now it had returned to him full force and the effects were startling. Major changes to the Primarch project had been made. Certain inbuilt weaknesses had been discarded, countless genetic defects were being corrected and the maturing fetuses had been linked psychically in a incredible display of warpcraft. Yet despite what seemed to be great leaps and bounds being made worries creeped into Malcadors mind.

The Primarchs were being perfected, not as weapons but as humans. Perfect humans meant to conquer and rule. Such things had been attempted before throughout history. Malcador had seen the records and the Emperors own memories of the events. The results had been horrific and the Emperor's “Sons” were leagues beyond the various Gene-Tyrants of the distant past. Even if a galaxy-buring civil war was averted and Chaos was thwarted they may be stuck with a whole new host of problems created by entitled self-declared heirs to the Imperium. 

Contingencies for that eventuality were being developed and Malcador could only hope the progeny of the Anathema inherited his love of humanity and desire to protect and shepherd the species. The Last Priest was to apparently be involved with this effort to humanize the Primarchs, along with the Assa-Matrari. Another thing the Emperor had drafted up to hopefully ensure the functionality of the Primarchs. Maternal Figures to help raise the Primarchs into healthy functioning humans. Psychological profiles had been written upon the ideal mothers for each Primarch based and a search was on to find these women before the Primarchs finished gestation. 

The other project worried him even more, for there seemed to be far too few contingencies in place in regard to the machine within Everest. Last-Minute Changes to the design had baffled even the greatest minds of the Terrawatt clan and Malcador had to draw upon the full brunt of his considerable intellect and knowledge base in order to understand. 

The Warp-Beacon aspect of the machine had its projection elements modified to allow for more concentrated amounts of psychic energy to envelop the galaxy at the cost of efficiency. It appeared the Emperor intended to sacrifice broadcasting radius in exchange for a stronger radiant effect. 

Slightly more understandably the Astra-Telepathica nexus had received upgrades in order for much larger and focused psychic linkage. Malcador theorized that these psi-uplinks were to allow secondary beacons to be created or allow other beings to power or influence it. Lastly and perhaps strangest of all the Deep-Warp linkage now allowed for excess psychic energy coming from the beacon or being focused on to it to be injected into Warp in a strange patterned bursts that would inevitably lead to some form of God-Forging. 

These changes worried Malcador, especially the fact that Terrawatt Warp-Sages were changing their estimates on how much Energy the so-called Astronomicon would take to operate. The original design would have already been intensely draining upon the operator but the changes increased the required Psychic power significantly. A truly massive amount of the Emperor's power was going to be dedicated solely on keeping it lit and that drain was only going to increase once the Emperor left Terra. 

The machine had already been a dangerous gamble on the Emperor's part that required a solid chunk of his psychic power but this seemed less like a gamble but more of a mistake to Malcador. Especially with a certain trend Malcador had noticed. Ever since the Emperor had returned from the beacon his psychic power seemed dimmer. Not enough for a normal human to detect and not enough for most psykers but Malcadors warp-senses were some of the sharpest in human history.

A light temporary dimming would be little to worry about but the lessening of the Emperor's power had not ended. If anything it had gotten worse. In the few years since the message Malcador had noted an approximately 1% decrease in his Leiges power, and with no sign of this downward trajectory stopping. He had tried to bring it up with the Emperor on numerous occasions and had gotten vague non-answers that typically could be summed up as “It is not something to worry about and it's under control” 

These worries plagued Malcadors mind and nothing could put them to rest. Had they dodged a bullet with the message from the future or had they simply exposed themselves to other dangers? Malcador had walked about a quarter of the circumference of the amphitheater that formed the peak of the Astronomicon as he mentally debated his worrying thoughts. Within hours the Emperor would arrive from Luna and the next step would unfold. 

Malcador shut his wizened eyes and simply hoped that he was wrong and all would go smoothly. Eventually an Adept entered the chamber and reached Malcador. He brought various tidings for the Sigillite to mull over. Two more highly probably Assa-Matrari candidates had been found. Initial reports from Uriah about Orioc were worrying and Chaotic taint was suspected. The last preparations for ignitions were going smoothly and the Emperor had left Luna along with highly classified Cargo. Soon the Master of Mankind would arrive and the next step upon the Shining Path would be taken.

Final nervous preparations were made and eventually, the private shuttle of the Emperor made Vox contact. The _Auric Aquilla_ was inbound and additional menial servitors were requested for unloading extremely precious cargo. In a scene that mirrored the incident on Luna the Emperor of Mankind arrived within the Hollow Mountain and was greeted by Malcador. 

Yet much to Malcador's surprise the Emperor was not accompanied solely by his Custodes. The minute the Dropships doors opened Malcador could sense them. Twenty Infant Demigods had come with their Father. The Sigillite simply raised an Eyebrow as he knelt before the Emperor “My Lord, why have you brought them?” asked Malcador in a slightly worried voice.

The Emperor simply smiled as twenty Gestation Capsules were emptied from his vessel. A Capsule marked **I** was moved by the servitors in between the Emperor and Malcador. Both peered at the sleeping fetus and Malcador realized his Masters intent. The Primarch floating inside was not a fetus any longer but an infant ready to be born. 

“You intend to bring them into reality with the Astronomicon?” Malcador was shocked at first but soon the Emperor's logic dawned upon them. The Lighting of the Astronomicon would mark the beginning of a new age, the Age of Imperium. The Primarchs would be born with it forever binding them in the myth-forms of the Warp as champions of humanity and wardens of the Shining Path. This would dissolve any claim real or imagined the Ruinous Powers had to the Primarchs and break countless chains of fate bound around the infants and their destinies.

The Emperor quitely responded “We will need every advantage possible in order to survive the coming storm. The Eldars Fall has damned the galaxy and the Warp has reached levels of horror never before seen, except perhaps for during the height of the First War. Chaos will hunger for more and feels entitled to my Sons. I will not allow the petulant abominations to claim any more of my children or species.” Malcador nodded in agreement and watched his Liege leave to make his own final preparations. 

. The finishing touches were being made and within a few months, the Astronomicon would be lit. Custodes patrolled the ever-growing macro-structure of the Himalazia and helped oversee the construction and security of the future site of the Imperial Palace. Officials ranging from high ranking adepts to old Terran Nobles wandered the secure zones of the site. They had been summoned to be witness to what the Emperor's messengers had simply called “The next step in Unity” 

Malcadors agents transported hundreds of collected Psykers into the great Chamber. They ranged from simple telepaths who had been rescued from lynch mobs by Imperial forces to powerful reality renders sworn to the Emperor's service. All had been hand-picked to be the first of there kind. The first Astropaths. The great amphitheater was built to house a Million humans and only about a thousand seats were filled with Psykers but Malcador could glimpse possible futures where legions of Psykers were brought forth to be bound to the Astronomicon. 

Terrawatt Sages scurried about through the inner workings of the great machine, working to ensure everything was in proper order. The last work-colonies had been emptied months ago and now all that remained was fine-tuning and last-minute checks. The Emperor himself oversaw some of this to ensure his exacting specifications were met. 

Similarly, Genewrights monitored the Gestation Capsules of the Primarchs. No side-effects of the new Gene-Alchemy or the psychic binding had been detected but the disciples of Luna kept a wary eye out for any last-minute changes. Seven Assa-Matrari had been selected so far and Primarchs I, IV, VI, VIII, XIII, XVI, and XVII would be welcomed into the world by mother figures. and hopefully their brothers Matrons were not long to be found. 

These and countless other preparations were being made as the scheduled day of ignition approached. The Emperor had secluded himself in order to prepare himself and all save Malcador and Valdor were forbidden from him. The Right and Left hands of the Emperor were both busy with countless duties both involving and not involving the Astronomicon. 

Thankfully Uriah Olathaire and Arik Taranis both assisted with external duties and keeping Terra calm. Uriah had lead a diplomatic delegation to the antarctic city-state of Orioc were the worst fears had been confirmed. Chaos worship infested the faith of the isolationists and they must be cleansed. The Lighting Bearer was then sent at the head of a massed force of Imperial Armies and had reduced the glacier-capped city to ash and dust. 

Soon the dawn of the final day approached. Everything was set and the Astronomicon would be lit. The twenty Infant Primarchs had there gestation capsules set to ring the central altar of the Amphitheater. A literal mountain of Machinery had been built in and around this single focal point to control and bind a massive amount of psychic energy. Soon the Emperor would light the Beacon and the next stage of his Great Ambition could be undertaken. 

Malcador accompanied by Valdor and the Tribunes journeyed deep into a hidden natural cavern that had been discovered during the initial construction period of the Astronomicon. The Emperor had appeared to expect its discovery and had named the strange cave the “Place of Leng” and used it at as a mix of personal quarters, laboratory and meditation chamber. 

The Five entered into the cavern and Valdor felt a familiar shiver run up his spine. Custodes could not feel fear or existential dread and were virtually immune to insanity causing stimuli yet still that slight instinctive shiver still existed among the Golden Legion and was there only indication that he was experiencing something that would traumatize a mortal man. The Cavern was a place where the Material Universe had been warped by things beyond human imagination and it was filled with the planet shattering psychic energy of the Emperor of Mankind. 

The Emperor meditated mid-air in the chamber. A Corona of golden psychic energy flickered around him and the chamber was filled with a miniature psychic star. The Emperor's form was semi-disconnected from the physical and Malcador could barely peer past the wall of energy to see the ever-shifting form of the being known only as The Emperor or Revelation. 

Malcador reached out with his mind to the Emperor and used his Soul-Bound link to pass through the inferno to touch his lieges mind. Instantly Malcador knew something was wrong. The Emperor's psychic power had waned massively, instead of the almost imperceptible decreases since the message he had lost nearly half of his power. Still far beyond any mortal but a shadow of his former glory. 

Genuine fear entered Malcador's mind, something had crippled his liege and humanity, nay reality itself was damned if the Great Plan could not move humanity further on the Shining Path. The Emperor pulled himself out of his meditation when he felt Malcador's presence and began to consolidate himself. Both the Materium and Immaterium hummed with energy as the Corona solidified around the Emperor's body.

The Emperor in all his golden glory soon stood before them and the Custodes knelt unison. Malcador began to speak in a worried whisper “My Lord, we need to delay, You could not provide the needed spark without crippling yourself. What is happening to you?” The Emperor placed a steady hand on Malcadors and softly replied “All will be well my Old Friend.”

With Malcador and the Custodes following the Emperor strowed out of the Place of Leng. He walked with power and purpose as his advisors desperately trailed him. Both Malcador and Valdor desperately spoke “You can’t do this Sir, it will break you. “ The Emperor shook his head “All will be well my Old Friends, all will be well.” 

Using a minor bit of telekinesis Malcador kept up with the Transhumans as he begged his Master “At least reduce the initial radius, from the Segmentum Solar to a more manageable area, a thousand Light Years or so?” The Emperor stopped suddenly and looked at malcador with confusion “The Segmentum Solar? The Astronomicon will have an effective radius of at least 50,000 light-years.” 

Shock struck the Sigillite, the Emperor intended to not only light the Astronomicon with his reduced power but extend it to its full range even with the Warp Beacon modifications. The galaxy would be covered in an aura of intense radiant power but it would be far more taxing than the original already rigorous cost of powering the psychic beacon. At full power, the Emperor would barely be able to do such a feat, yet not it seemed an impossible, nay suicidal endeavor. 

Telekinetic energy suddenly rippled and Malcador brought his own psychic might to bear. He stood before the Emperor and the Custodes and spoke in a shaking voice “I do not know what madness has possessed you my lord but I will not allow you to doom yourself or the Imperium. This is suicide, and I don’t know what has caused this but I swear to you I will save you.” 

The Custodes drew their Spears and leveled them at Malcador, yet they did not strike like they would have any other to threaten there Master. For his words spoke true and the Custodes were paralyzed by the conflict between there directives. They must serve the Emperor and follow his will no matter the cost yet they must protect the Emperor's life above all else. 

The Emperor slowly approached Malcador like a beast tamer trying to soothe a panicked creature. Psychic power flared in warning and Malcador prepared to unleash his full might to incapacitate the Master of Mankind. Before the Sigillite could even react the Emperor had crossed the distance and placed his hand upon Malcador's forehead. 

“Your courage and devotion is admirable Old Friend yet you are mistaken. This is no folly.” Malcador responded frantically “Something is weakening you, I worry you will not survive the ignition.” A soft chuckle met that and the Emperor wore the amused expression of a benevolent king “What is the first lesson that is taught to the Warp-touched?” “To suppress and control their power?” said Malcador almost quoting an old Golden Age text from when Psykers were impossibly rare and the warp was calm. 

Energy pulsed from the Emperor's palm into Malcador's mind, a vision plucked from the Emperor's own mind entered Malcador. 

*A Psychic Corona of familiar power and nature burned in the Warp. The Players of the Great Game circled it, ever watching for even a moment's weakness. *

*Diving into the Anathema-Star, past its bulwark inferno of willpower and sanity. Protected by his link to the Emperor he plunged deeper into the star. *

*Deeper and Deeper until the laughter of thirsting gods could no longer be heard he surfaced in the Stars Heart. The mind's eye nearly blinded by its radiance. Hidden behind a Star's corona was a Galaxy. *

*A Quintillion Souls shone before him in a mimicry of the Material Galaxy. All bound together in an eternal song of revelation and sheltered within Galactic arms born of fallen sons.* 

*At the center was a mass of psychic power greater than anything ever seen. A Super-Massive flame that linked the million million martyrs surrounding it*

With a great shuddering gasp Malcador slammed back into reality and barely caught himself on his Force-Staff. Psychically-imbued golden tears trickled down the ancient Sigillites face. The Emperor comforted his stunned friend and spoke “The best place to hide something is in plain sight. I am sorry you did not realize the truth sooner Malcador. I am still adapting to my new capabilities and I did not realize the truth would be hidden even from you.”

After helping to steady Malcador the Emperor continued on his path with his entourage close behind. Malcadors mind churned, the sheer power the Emperor had displayed was virtually impossible. The only psychic phenomena he had seen of that caliber was when the the Eldars insanity had ripped open the galaxy and then it had only been a split second shade of the Emperors current might. A new golden age just might be in there grasp, and the grim darkness of the future may yet be avoided.

Eventually they reached the Chamber of the Astronomicon. Malcador and the Custodes watched as the Emperor walked onto the center of the Altar. As he did machines wirred to light and thousands of Psykers began to sing a meditative chant. The Twenty infant Primarchs slept in there capsules as the Emperor began to summon his power.

Slowly golden light started to pour of the Master of Mankind, an aura of majesty filled the chamber as he slowly rose in to the air and spread his arms wide. Raw psychic power coalesced around him in a sphere of golden light. It grew greater and greater as focused and linked with the great machine below him. 

Every being with a hint of psychic potential within the room could feel there soul be enraptured by the Emperors Power. The air hummed and the mountain began to vibrate as the Emperor's form started to blur and the golden light became brighter than Sol. As the cascade of energy reached its climax a single sentence could be heard across Terra, a single Psychic phrase that echoed in a billion minds 

“ **Let there Be Light”**

* * *

####  **Chapter Eleven: Angyls and Daemons**

Golden Fire erupted from the Emperor in a titanic pulse. White-Hot psychic energy rippled through both the Materium and Immaterium in a tidal wave of unstoppable might. It took both an age and an attosecond for the Astronomicons light to reach the galaxy's edge. Every being in the galaxy with any form of connection to the Warp could feel the shift. 

As if a torch was ignited in a once dark room the Warp now shone with psychic light. Xenos of all kinds sensed an oncoming storm, one that would come to right past wrongs and cleanse the galaxy no matter the cost. Some psykers were entranced by the light and felt the call of a distant leader and protector while others recoiled in pain for they had been touched by the darkness and knew nothing of the light. 

The Light filled the Chamber of the Astronomicon and the Emperor shut his physical eyes and opened his mental ones. He had linked himself to the great machine and it was now an extension of his will. The Galaxy was laid out before him, everywhere the Light of the Astronomicon touched he could see. 

Nearly all of the Milky Way was bathed in the golden light. Only the fiercest of Warp-phenomena could weather the psychic storm he had summoned. He watched the Galaxy as the Astronomicons power spread and solidified. Warp Storms born of the youngest of the fours birth cries were snuffed out like candles in the wind. 

Warp Rifts shrunk as Space/Time healed and many of the smaller chaos-born gouges in the universe were sealed shut by the Emperor's sheer force of will. Holes into the Immaterium were sewed shut. Daemon Worlds were burned to ash and joined the life cycle of the universe again untainted. Millions of gaping galactic wounds torn open by the Eldars folly were cauterized and sealed. The mightiest of those rifts spilled open still but diminished.

Even the great breeches into the Warp were affected. Radiant tides of psychic fire crashed into the newly born Eye of Terror and burned away the corruption, purifying light-years of Void. The Warp was aflame with psychic light and the Emperor could feel countless tendrils of corruption and taint be pulled sharply back into the Realms of Chaos as their creators felt the scorching heat of the Anathemas light.

The Emperor braced himself psychically as he knew what would come next. The self-proclaimed Masters of the Immaterium would come calling. In a parody of an ocean swell, the warp shuddered. While the Emperor's light burned constantly on the surface of the Sea of Souls Leviathans dwelled deep within it. The Four were coming to confront him. 

The immaterium shook as The Four dredged themselves out of their lairs. The Emperor's mind and will covers the Galaxy, acting as a lighthouse centered upon Terra. He stood within the Warp as both Beacon and Beacon-keeper waiting for the Great Enemy to arrive. Soon (if such words can be used in the Warp) the Leviathans breached and the Four Storms of incalculable power surrounded him. 

They were everywhere around him and in the far distance as well. Each sought to extinguish the Burning light. Enough psychic energy to corrupt an entire Segmentum was thrown at the beacon. Imagined Energy and Mythological Matter slammed into the Emperor in wave after wave. The Emperor of ages past would have been able to weather this storm as well, but barely. This Emperor, empowered by the blood of martyrs was a different tale.

After an instantaneous age of Chaos slamming its might into the Emperor's psychic bulwark he spoke. In a voice that shook the immaterial, the Emperor addressed the Four:

**++ Are you done yet? ++**

The sheer disdain and psychic weight of his words slammed into the storms with far more effectiveness than there tantrums. The assault petered out and the storms became solid. Four self-proclaimed gods faced the Master of Mankind. There forms shifted constantly, human, Xeno, beast, abomination, they shapeshifted in an ever-changing psychotic caleidoscope. 

Any mortal would have long gone insane from being in there presence, and even the Emperor could barely view them in their entirety. The Four circled around him like prowling hyenas searching for any weakness or flaw to exploit. At that moment more of the Chaos Gods' attention was upon the Emperor, than anywhere else in the material. Space/Time itself would have ripped open under such pressure yet the Master of Mankind stood firm.

Their alien intellects and spiritual power bored into the Emperor, willing him to collapse under their virtually unlimited power. The Emperor said nothing and simply raised his hands slowly like an ancient conductor of music. Flames started to pour out of the Emperor in a slow-building inferno that burned/pierced the depths of the Warp. While the Astronomicon boiled the surface of the Sea of Souls these Spear/Sword/Spikes of Heat/Light/Holy/Energy were hurled deep into the realm/heart/core of the Chaos Gods. 

Right as the lances struck them Warrior-Memories/Spirits came into being and struck the Four. Phantoms of ghost-shards of corrupted godlings lashed out at there Doom.

* _A Snarling Berserker gouged the Blood-Soaked Hound-King with Dragon-Toothed Axes and roared “I AM NO ONE'S SLAVE! YOU ARE NOT MY MASTER!” *_

_*Molten Metal Arms gripped the Thirsting Folly-Snake tightly and seared it's not-flesh in ways intolerable even to it. Silver-Haired/Bladed Warrior moved faster than lighting and punctured the Snakes heart with a whisper “For Ferrus” *_

_*Rotten Flesh burn/sliced, the Ghastly Grandfather weeped. A Reaping-Angel struck over and over as he chanted in a raspy voice “I aM nOt WEak, RoT in hELL wITCh THinG”_

_*A trillion eye/mouths were silenced/blinded by a One Eyed King. Knowledge/Power poured into the Screaming-Crystal and burned it like Fire/Acid. Its Laugh/Weeping was meant with a simple soft retort “I am not your puppet”_

The Chaos Gods were smashed back, there unassailable might was assailed and the Four Lies flickered. Recovering and putting down a billion revolts and warp-born anarchy they approached their enemy again. The Emperor watched as the monsters approached warrily. A mirthless grin appeared on his face as he said: “The tables have turned abominations, that was just a taste of what you have coming.” 

The Four spoke in undivided chaos, there 4/trillion voices were one. “What do you want, Anathema” The last word was spat, more like an insult than name or title.

“You have protected “your” godlings and pollute our kingdom with your wretched fire, why are you here?”

A vicious sneer crossed the Emperors perfect/terrifying features: “I am here to discuss the terms of your surrender” 

The Warp was silent for an age/moment before Laughter/Screams echoed throughout it in a psychotic display of mirth that drove a billion random mortal across the galaxy utterly insane.

“Surr-en-der? You are a greater fool than we ever thought Anathema. You have done nothing, NOTHING! Except for delaying/quickening the inevitable. You will fall Anathema, your species will embrace us more fully than any other and all you have done will be for naught.

The Flames intensified with His fury and the warp burn/froze with the Emperor's cold fury. In a black-iron growl, he answered there taunts calmly. “I am here to offer you an alternative to your extinction, if you reject my proposition there will be no mercy and I will ensure your elimination.”

The laughter of the thirsting gods continued in a sickening mocking cacophony. “Foolish child of man, you are not even a player in our Great Game. Just a delusional pawn hoping to scratch the hand/tendril/paw that moves it.” 

Another wave of Hate-Flame crashed into the Chaos Gods but with diminished effects. The Laughter only increased in volume: “You are nothing Anathema, just another in the infinite multiverse to toy with and ruin. So speak your bit, it might be amusing to see what you could possibly want.”

The Emperor gathered/girded himself, he had never once considered the idea of negotiation with the Tumor-Gods but no matter the outcome it would further his plans.

“Disconnect from the Material, passively feed on naturally generated emotions. No more corruption, no more incursions, no more insanity. You are to leave my sons, my species, and my Universe alone.” Again the Warp was silent before the laughter erupted again, louder and more horrifically mocking than before. 

“How banal and pathetic, we hoped it would be something more interesting, like asking to join us in godhood. We all know that's what you truly desire, to be like us. Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omnipresent. To control everything as you see fit, you want to bring “Order” to everything. The idea is amusing at least, it would almost be fun to gain another rival/sibling/piece. So how about it Anathema? Join our growing pantheon. We gained a new member a few eons/moments ago and we would be happy to have you”

Blades of righteous fury burned/cut the warp as the Emperor's wrath increased. “I am not a God, and neither are any of you.”

A sly chuckle responded “oh then why do you dress yourself and your creations so? Angels? Crusades? Omnissiah? You tell all that you are not Divine then try to act the part. So come join us Em-per-or, and become what you have always been destined to be. The God-Emperor of Mankind.” 

Visions of Legions of Light, Gods of the New Order, and Unity in the face of fire and flame echoed before the Emperor as he responded. “The Warp is a place where myths become fact and symbolism becomes strength. The titles were often given to you and your ilk is Daemons and Dark Gods. What better way to cast down hell-spawn then with an army of Angels?” 

New visions then entered Revelations' mind unbidden. Of Heresy, Betrayal and insanity.

“Oh but Anathema you know as well as we do that Angels can fall…” 

Nine Mythforms sprung into being, each formed from future-memories and destinies thwarted. The nine things were broken parodies of the Traitor Primarchs. Lacking the true glory or horror of them either in Human or Daemonic states. Simply Warp-flesh carved into the shape of fallen sons. The Golearchs lumbered forward bellowing demented war-screams. Before the things could react they had been obliterated blade/flames had burnt/slashed them to ashes/pieces.

The mad laughter grew in intensity at the Filicidal display. Once the last of the Golearchs, a whimpering parody of mighty Lupercal was slain they spoke again. “We reject your terms Anathema and offer our own. Give us our due and we shall leave your species be. Give us Four of your Sons and we will spare you and the rest.” 

The Emperor could see flickers of futures where the Four were made flesh. Avatars of Chaos each greater and more terrible than anything the mortal realm had ever scene unleashed. They continued in mocking seductive screaming: “Simply give to us what is owed and we will find other toys to play with.” 

Gritting his teeth the Emperor snarled “I owe you abominations nothing, how dare you. First, you attempt to steal away my Sons and now you attempt to barter for them like livestock. My attempts to negotiate with you was obviously a fool's errand. BEGONE you tumors born of ancient folly!” 

The Chaos Gods simply laughed “How human, denying you owe us a debt in the creation of your children. For the powers of the Warp, the very substance of our being was used in there creation, are they not our children as much as they are yours? You came to us on Moloch and stole from us! All we want is a minor amount of restitution Anathema.”

A Column of Golden Fire detonated, Soul-Flames blast/burnt the Four/Undivided back as the Emperor marshaled his power and roared. **++I STOLE NOTHING FROM YOU, YOU ERRANT TOOLS! ON MOLOCH MY BIRTHRIGHT WAS RECLAIMED, AND I WILL USE IT TO ENSURE YOUR EXTINCTION++**

The Four/Undivided hissed and screeched as the flames lapped at them. “Choose Anathema! Four! or Half! We will claim our prize eventually.”

More energy cascaded into the Chaos Gods, evaporating entire figment-realms and burning the False-Flesh of their avatars. The Four fled from his wrath all while leaving one final whispered threat. “You are not the first Anathema to fall but you will be the last. We will ensure that Revelation!”

With the Four gone the Emperor let out a deep breath. He looked/sensed/touched the Galaxy that was blanketed with his power and thought to himself. “The Shining Path widens still” As the final wave of the Astronomicans ignition reached the Galaxies edge and solidified The Emperor allowed himself to return to his physical form.

The instant he did the Emperor was greeted by a sound as old as humanity. A sound that instilled countless emotions in all the Children of Terra who heard it. The sound of humanity’s future, the sound of crying infants. With the birth of the Emperor's Will made Light came the birth of his Will made Flesh. Twenty Primarchs had been born


	5. Children of Terra (ch 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young Primarchs grow under the Emperor's watchful eye.

####  **Chapter Twelve: Children of Terra**

**Date: 790.M30** **  
** **Location: The Emperor's private quarters within the Inner Palace.**

The Emperor rarely slept, his Apex-mind and physiology did not require it. During periods of crisis he had spent literal years awake with no physical side effects and he doubted centuries of consciousness would have an effect. Yet he still chose to sleep occasionally. Not much, just a night once a week where he shut his eyes and allowed himself to rest. 

He had been mildly surprised when this ancient practice of his had somehow influenced some of the Religions that had sprung up in his wake, they called it the Sabbath. Like many of the quirks he had picked up throughout the millennia it had unintended consequences upon human history. These sabbaths reminded him of that and the consequences of even the smallest errors.

Yet reminding him of lessons long ago learned was only one of the reasons the Emperor decided to still sleep. It helped him feel human, feel more connected with his species. He knew logically that engaging in basic bodily maintenance did not actually make him more human but when he went long periods without it he felt himself becoming distant, aloof, and worryingly alien. 

The reason for this is related to how sleep and in particular Dreams connects to the Warp. When mortals dream they touch the surface of the warp and come into contact with there species collective oversoul. Here they touch into what an ancient friend of the Emperor named “The Collective Unconscious” When the Emperor slept he did not experience the random regurgitated memories and emotions of his subconscious mixed with the warp but something much more precise and powerful.

He touched the Oversoul of the human species and could feel the gestalt consciousness of Humanity. It was not unique to him and any Alpha class Psyker or higher could manage it but few did for what they saw there was enough to drive even the most iron-willed psyker mad. The Human Species was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. 

The Horrors of the Old Night had touched every Human alive, fear and grief plagued there subconscious as memories both cultural and there own inspired nightmares more horrific than anything seen in human history. Xeno predators drinking the bones of billions and leaving the survivors to clean up continents of distorted corpses. Green Brutes mutilating people into cattle. Material Madness exploding out of a witch's skull and sacrificing its world to Chaos. 

Everytime the Emperor slept he touched the Oversoul where the Material and Immaterial met and reminded himself of what he must do. No matter the cost he would end the Nightmare and awaken humanity to a new dawn. When he slept he felt all of humanity as one and could feel the future they could obtain upon the Golden Path.

The Emperor's sabbath helped him reconnect with his humanity and since the ignition of the Astronomicon eight years whispers a simple phrase into the dreams of trillions of Terras lost Children. “Salvation is near o'Children of Terra” It was a promise he made both to them and himself. Soon the next step on the Shining Path will be taken and the Great Crusade would launch. Twelve years left, to get everything ready. More time than he had originally wanted but it would be worth it.

The Emperor floated in the dreamscape and brought himself back to Terra and watched over the homeworld of his species. He dove/looked into the Palace. It was still under construction but the Dungeons and the basic Skeleton were completed. Peering through layer and layer of the palace he watched the millions of the souls that inhabited the inner palace and looked for Twenty in particular. 

All twenty of the Primarchs were asleep within there apartments. They were called Apartments but in truth, they were subterranean mansions built into the Emperor's quarters. (which in turn was a city-sized complex of rooms.) Each Apartment possessed full amenities from feasting halls to modular training complexes. The Emperor could see the various menials awakening to begin their duties and even a few of the more strict Matari beginning their morning rituals. 

He chuckled to himself as he watched his Seventh son's foster mother awake before any of the others. Petra Sauer may have retired from the Imperial Army a decade ago but she had changed little. Catching warp-flickers he realized some of his sons still dreamt, he debated peering into them and eventually decided a quick glance wouldn't hurt.

_ *A King riding a Lion charged a mechanical dragon with the Knights of the Round following him*  _

It appears Arik had been regaling young Eddard with tales of the Unification Wars. The Emperor only hoped that the stories his sons heard were not as grisly or nightmarish as the truths of that conflict, they still had a few years of relative innocents. No need to plunge them into a lifetime of war early. 

_ *Cities forged from imagination rose into the sky, constantly improving and being rebuilt by a Conductor of Equations*  _

Octaviar had so far proven far more stable than the version raised on Olympia and he had hope for his son. The gene-connection was tenuous but some days he saw flickers of his old friend within him.

_ *Screaming, a thing made of blades and lighting stalked grime-covered streets, filth in human flesh committed unspeakable crimes and the bladed thing did unspeakable things to them*  _

A frown crossed the Emperor's face, Konrad's gift of foresight was great even at this young age but it not only saw futures to be but futures prevented. The Emperor watched the dream of Nocturne for a moment before he reached into the dream and changed it, that horrific future had been prevented and he would not allow his children to be hurt by it.

The Emperor had raised thousands of children throughout human history, some his own, some not. Most of his biological children inherited something from him, increased psychic potential, extended lifespans and a rare few were true immortals like him and some still even walk the ages. Yet even the ones who had inherited great powers from him had been simply powerful humans, these children, his primarchs were true Superhumans in every sense of the word. 

Each was intellectually, physically and psychically beyond humanity, yet still human. Their souls were not that of an Aliens but simply More than a humans. He had crafted them with thousands of years' worth of knowledge in both the material and immaterial sciences along with Warp-born power. The twenty children were quite literally Myth made Flesh.

These thoughts floated through the slumbering Emperors' mind as he watched the sleeping Primarchs. He could see the horrific futures he had averted and could only hope that their fates were not the tragedies he had seen. In particular, he looked at his 16th and 17th sons. Horus and Phillip both slept soundly and a grim thought entered the Emperor's head. In ages past, he had been forced to kill his children and in a possible future, he would be forced to do it again to save humanity.

Dispelling that thought the Emperor prepared to awake and return to the material. Just as he did he felt a slight shift. One of his sons had awoken. A soft smile appeared upon his face for he knew what would come next. It had become a competition over the last few years over which Primarch could wake up first in the morning after his sabbath. In order to wake him up. 

Wincing slightly at what was to come next the Emperor returned to his body and waited in a half-asleep state. He did not have to wait long until a black-colored meteor burst through the doors of his chamber with a squad of Custodes in hot pursuit. A Hetaeron just had enough time to bellow “Let your Father sleep Kota!” before the Nineteenth Primarch barreled into the Emperors sleeping from. Even with the body of an eight-year-old, the Primarchs “assault” carried enough power to shatter a normal man's rib cage. It proved an unpleasant shock to the drowsy Emperor.

Kota Ravenwing often won this weekly contest due to his mix of speed and stealth and was laughing in triumph while flitting around the Emperor's bedroom with the energy and momentum only a small child could possess. “Father! I was the first! I Snuck past all my brothers and woke you up!” 

The Emperor tousled his son's hair and spoke “You did, I'm impressed my Son but you still need to work on not alerting the Custodes. Kota you are a true master of stealth in the making. Now run along” 

The child beamed and scurried off to begin his day's training. The Emperor left his bed and telekinetically dressed himself as he spoke to the Custodes “Letting a child sneak through your defenses? He may be my Son but you are my Companions.” 

The lead Custodes responded, “There is no excuse my lord.” 

The Emperor let out a slight chuckle before responding “To be fair it is hard to apprehend a Transhuman child moving at nearly a hundred kilometers per hour without injuring him. Though I trust you will eventually find a way. ” The Custodes simply nodded and left. 

The Emperor finished dressing and prepared to go about his day. The last eight years had been a whirlwind of activity. Terra was being slowly and steadily rebuild with primitive atmosphere scrubbers cobbled together by the Terrawatt Clan beginning the long arduous process of healing the homeworld of the human species. There had been a veritable population explosion thanks to the peace and prosperity brought about by unification.

Countless great works were being built across the planet, employing billions in the construction of new infrastructure and macro-structures. Material wise they were making do with whatever the Archo-Armies could scavenge from the depths of the Old Earth but the Emperor had known that the next phase of his plan would require Terra's twin. Mars: the Red world of Technology. 

Captured cybernetic scavengers sent from Mars had given a pretty clear picture of what Mars was like, it lined up with both the Emperor's own projections and the God-Emperor's memories. A culture of cybernetic Tech-Worshippers both far to curious and close-minded for their own good. Yet perfect for the next phase of his plan. The Dragons Dreams still seeped into the minds of Mars but they were just dreams so far. The thing sealed within the Labyrinth still slept.

Malcador and the Emperor had both agreed that the time to reach Mars was at hand and the Emperor would lead the first expedition there within a month. He had honestly no idea how long negotiations would last and he was not going to bring his Sons to mars while they were still so young. This would be the first extended period he would be away from his sons and the governing of Terra. The Emperor intended to use said month to ensure both his Children and his Imperium would survive his absence.

The Emperor strowed through the inner Palace reading reports prepared by countless Adepts under Malcador. So far the news was mainly good. Uriah was spreading the “Revised” Imperial Truth throughout Terra. A creed Uriah, Malcador, and the Emperor had crafted using entire libraries of religious texts. The Imperial Truth was the idea of Humanity’s eventual Ascendancy. That by unifying as one we were taking another step down the road of Ascension, and working to the species’ birthright as being surpassing any god-creature. 

Malcador was busy helping create a bureaucratic system capable of actually governing the galaxy and instituting numerous backups and contingencies to help prevent the Administratium ever becoming the monstrosity of the far future. In turn, the Officio Assassinorum had made good progress through the list the Emperor had given Malcador. At this point thousands of potential threats were dead. 

Arik and his equerry were also keeping busy. The Primarchs were still children so it fell to them to train the rapidly growing “First Twenty” as the first batch of 20,000 Astartes were being called. One of each gene-seed lineage. Once mass production of the Legions start these first Legionnaires would form the officer corps of the quickly growing Legio Astartes. 

The Emperor had been working on a cure for the sickening of the Thunder Warriors, Astartes Gene-Seed had seemed to be a distinct possibility for a while, but they realized the organs would eventually reject the two thunder warriors and leave them in even worse shape. So far a stop gap had been created in the form of blood transfusions from the Primarchs. Cloned blood had been used at first to some effect but when they learned of it the then 5-year-old Primarchs were all willing to help there “Uncle Arik and Cousin Ghota.” 

As of now the Primarchs were growing quickly and mastering virtually every skill set the Emperor had them learn. Countless tutors and experts had been brought in from around the world to educate them. Each were utter masters of anything they were taught but took to their preordained specialties like leviathans to the sea. 

Tyric could track a man through miles of the palace easily and hold his own against a Custodes in single combat. Dante and Konrad were mastering the art of Precognitive Combat and both Kota and Konrad could sneak through some of the low-security sections of the palace completely undetected. In turn, Vulkan, Culain, and Octaviar were hard at work crafting countless new inventions for both themselves and the imperium. 

The Emperor entered the Primarchs Hall and could hear the sounds of twenty superhuman children starting their days. The Primarchs hall was a vast circular room that acted as a type of pseudo-courtyard to the Primarchs Apartments. Twenty-Two doors lead into the chamber and lined the walls of the chamber. The Center of the chamber formed a park of sorts. A green space for his sons to explore and enjoy like so many generations of Terrans had in the past. 

The Emperor stood at the southern entrance overlooking it and taking a moment to watch his children play. He let out a small chuckle as he watched Theodora chase a mid-flight Dante. “Come back here young man! You need to groom your feathers or they will get damaged.” 

The ruffled looking Primarch tried to desperately flee his impending grooming but a pair of wings and precognitive powers were not enough to shake his Matrari

Similar events occurred across the Primarchs Hall. The Emperor let out a content sigh. The Primarchs were little like the living weapons and Warrior-Kings he had seen in the visions of the Heresy. These sons of his were Heroes in the making. 

The Emperor entered the chamber and approached the congregation of children and Assai-Matari. Laughter and shouts streamed towards him as he watched. The Primarchs had not noticed their father yet, he cloaked himself in ancient stealth arts and psychic shadows in order to watch undetected. 

Sensing a slight stirring in the immaterium he glanced over at Tyric focusing his mental energies into his hand. The Emperor chuckled, it was a trick the 6th Primarch had figured out a few months ago. A novel use of the Cryokinetic psychic arts that came naturally to him. Tyric had formed a snowball in his hand and prepared to surprise his older sibling Eddard who was busy eating breakfast with it. 

Lowering his perception filter the Emperor appeared before his sons just in time to catch the 400kph ball of slush. As one 20 voices let out a jubilant cry of “Father” The boys began to instantly jockey for his attention as they boasted accomplishments and generally acted like siblings. As they settled down the Emperor spoke to them calmly. “My sons, in one month the Martian Expedition shall begin. Before I leave I wish to spend this month with you, to see how you have all grown and developed.” 

The Primarchs nodded, they had known this separation was inevitable and coming soon. They had steeled themselves for this moment and were ready. No tears were to be shed for the Primarchs may have been children but they were Primarchs and knew the Emperor's reasons and that he would return to them. 

The Primarchs were beyond human in many ways, including their emotions. They felt stronger purer feelings than most humans, which had contributed to the fall of the Heresy in the timeline averted. The Emperor knew not of it a side effect of there warp-touched nature or a simple quirk of the countless gene codes stitched into the Primarchs Gene-Code. 

No matter the source the Emperor had spent many nights teaching his Sons an art that few sentients ever fully master. Equilibrium of Mind: a balancing of intellect and emotion designed to temper either extreme and strengthen the psyche of the practitioner. It was an ancient skill formed by Philosophy Cults at humanity’s height and often thought the evolution and perfection of countless meditative arts created throughout human history. 

His sons had greatly benefited from this and displayed not just intellect and strength of superhuman levels but blossoming wisdom and temperance that would hopefully allow them to become the Paragons he, no, Humanity needed. No expense had been spared to prevent there fall and the Emperor could only hope it was enough. 

The Emperor continued “I am going to be more actively involved this month, my sons intend to observe you and teach you as much as I can before the next step is taken.” His children nodded solemnly and went about their morning with a renewed conviction to make there Father and Assai-Matrari proud, and to prove themselves worthy of the destiny set forth before them. 

The Primarchs finished their breakfast in relative peace, the Emperor's presence naturally reduced the amount of mischief they got into. Next, they moved onto the morning spar. They used the massive training arenas capable of modifying themselves to mimic countless environments built into the Palace. 

So far the young Primarchs were matching an average Hykanatoi’s score on most training courses and a few were even starting to match and even exceed Allarus scores. The Emperor watched them from an observation deck as his Sons battled there way through an artificial Under-Hive. 

They were each whirling masses of fire and fury. Thousands of vat-grown monstrosities and cybernetic death-beasts died before the Primarchs. Each wielded weapons designed for adult mortals with practiced ease. The Emperor watched as Octaviar and Culain fought back to back against unending flesh-puppets that their bolters and Adrathics reduced to a thin paste. Alpharius and Omegon in turn disoriented and confused swarms of Murder-creatures into setting upon feral mutant tribes imported for these tests.

These and countless other sights of skill and ferocity impressed the Emperor as he watched along with the Assai Matarai and tutors observing also. The Emperor softly said, “I believe they are ready to have safeguards Alpha and Beta removed, my sons truly live up to humanity's warrior spirit.” 

Meredith Kane, Kalib’s Matrari let out a soft chuckle. “They already have been, this is lethal combat sire. I believe Horus leads the effort to convince the Arena-Maesters to allow it.” 

The Emperor raised an eyebrow at that “Is there a reason I was not informed?” Meredith simply responded. “They ensured you weren't, I believe they want to impress you.” A melodious laugh escaped the Emperor's lips. “I am impressed, such ambition, initiative, and sense of purpose. Fine then, remove safeguards Gamma as well.”

The faces of nineteen mothers flickered with fear, Mary, Phillips Matrari was the one who showed no fear but calm determination. She answered the Emperor's command in her soft melodious voice: “They will succeed, these children born of your blood and spirit and raised by us are greater than any of us could ever imagine. The Primarchs will face any challenge and triumph, I have faith in that. 

The Emperor watched her confidence infect the others and felt his lips twitch in a smile. Faith the enemy of reason, his sin, and salvation in one. Millions labored under his and Uriah’s instruction to harness that great force for humanity’s benefit. To teach the Children of Terra not to put faith in god-things or Transhumans but in each other. Mary Atimah had been a great success in that quest, now she showed her reborn faith, her faith in her son, and his brothers. A faith in human potential. 

With that safeguard, Gamma was removed. The Arenas gravity doubled, its temperatures started to fluctuate wildly, and new greater more horrific monsters were released to hunt and be hunted. The Emperor watched with a father's pride and a scientist's fascination at what occurred. His sons were Warriors and they proved that fact over and over.

Baraca barely dodged a chain blade larger than him wielded by some leftover war-thing of the Techno-Barbarians. It left a nick on his armor as he jumped out of the way. The creature was right where the XII Primarch wanted it, a Web grenade detonated in the things face trapping it between two hab-structures it had been lured to. The titanic thing was stuck and with every struggle of cloned muscle, it became more bound. When it was fully trapped Baraca decapitated it with a single strike of his blade.

Countless other displays of incredible martial skills were displayed. From Iskandar slaying a dozen War-Screamers with a single strike each. To Rogal cleaving a path straight through a Ghular pack with calm certainty. After another hour or so the morning spar was finished and the Primarchs retired to disarm and compare scores.

Eventually, they made their way to the Great Library of the Palace. This ever-growing monument to knowledge was a place of study and learning where copies of trillions of texts were stored. It was also where the Primarchs were tutored in the countless intellectual pursuits necessary for there future. 

Today's lecture was about the Legio Astartes, the Space Marines. The Primarchs were expected to be as knowledgeable about there gene-sons as the greatest Gene-wright or Terrawatt Elder. The biology and capabilities of the Astartes were discussed in detail by the Ancient Sage of transhuman lore taken from Luna to teach his craft to the perfection of it. 

The Emperor simply sat in the back of the lecture hall and listened with quant amusement. This had not been the first time he had listened to a lecture being given about his creations or accomplishments. In ages past, he would often find it an interesting pastime when he was walking in the guise of academics. 

The Sage started the lecture with a simple question: “The transhumans born of your genecode are formally known as the Adeptus Astartes, a title tracing its roots to Old Terran. Space Marine is typically how the term is translated into gothic or other languages but what is the original literal meaning of this name?” 

Magnus piped up first: “Adeptus has the same meaning as Master, and Astartes means Stars so Masters of the Stars?” The sage chuckled softly: “a common error, young Magnus. Adept is the title of Master but Adeptus is the action. To Master, Adeptus Astartes literally means Masterers of the Stars. Much like how the Adeptus Administratum masters the imperium government and the Adeptus Astro-Telepathica master the Astronomicon and its uses.” 

The Sage gestured to the twenty Primarchs and spoke with a mix of reverence and hope: “You and your Genesons were created to Master the Stars for humanity. Not as rulers or owners of the Galaxy but explorers, conquerors, and defenders of humanity. An ancient Terran writer paraphrased a religious text with this famous quote.”: “According to the word of God, the meek would someday inherit the earth. Someday. But God never accounted for the mighty” 

“Your father seeks to ensure a Galaxy where humanity can grow and prosper under their own rule and guidance, yet a galaxy is a place of many horrors that would drive humanity to extinction or worse. You and the Astartes are the answer to that conundrum. The Mighty will protect the weak while they become rightful inheritors.”

The Sage had been a good choice the Emperor thought, he knew his theory well, let's see how he does with practical. The lecture continued as the intricacies of Geneseed were discussed. Its meta-psychic nature and biological components were discussed in detail. How it linked the Astartes on both a genetic and spiritual level to there Primarch and by extension the Emperor himself. Symptoms of Warp-taint and natural degradation were discussed. Quick overviews of the 24 gene-organs were touched on, including the bloodline specific ones. 

The Emperor watched as the lecture carried on until Tengri, ever the quiet one surprised the lecturer and siblings with a question: “Why does Gene-Seed reject some applicants? Shouldn’t all pure strain humans be capable of the augmentations?” The Sage simply shrugged his aged shoulders. “It is unknown why possibly some genetic quirk but only certain populations of humanity are capable of undergoing the transformation.”

At that the Emperor stood up and walked into the center of the lecture hall, the Sage bowed and moved aside to allow the oldest and wisest of humanity’s teachers to take center stage. The Emperor remembered countless similar scenes from his history, of educating bright young minds and it brought a smile to his lips. He had forgotten how much fun it was to smile, he used to smile maybe once a decade after the Iron War, its horrors had burned much of his humanity away, now his children both living and dead had restored it to him.

In a lecturers, voice practiced and refined since he had debated Socrates the Emperor began. “You are all my children, born of my blood and soul, but not that alone. Each of you was painstakingly crafted with all my knowledge acquired over nearly Forty millennia. I used my own genome as a template but you are each unique.”

As he spoke psychic images flickered through his student's minds. Of countless hours spent within secret Gene-vaults, the painstaking work done to hybridize countless strands of DNA and imbuing said product with impossible Warp-Arts. “Each of you carries genes taken from legendary figures from human history, along with posthuman refinements unique to each of you.

_ *An ancient Centurion of Old Roma holds a Xeno-blade aloft* _

_ *Five thousand cavalrymen were lead by a stunningly handsome prince* _

_ *The Emperor and a grizzled General discussed strategy as Iron-Men singularity engines approached* _

_ *Justice in Black clambered between spires of primitive Hives, hunting fiends and villains* _

_ *A repentant Cognoscynths ripped out chunks of his scarlet hair in sadness as a golden-eyed warrior comforted him* _

_ * The Wiseman lay dying in the Emperor's arms right before giving his speech “Word of the Law”* _

The visions danced through the young Primarch's minds and showed them there genetic heritage. As the memories faded the Emperor continued: “You are not just simple clones of me and as such your lineage is only compatible with individuals matching certain psycho-genetic markers. For example, Tyrics Gene-seed is far more compatible with Humans who have spliced genes, those with wild blood are much more easily accepted by his bloodline than those without.”

The Primarchs nodded and processed this knowledge, Marcus ever the clever one raised his hand and asked: “So thats why some of our lineages have an easier time finding candidates. The Markers are more common for that type of geneseed?” “Correct Marcus, your lineage, in particular, is one of the more verdant ones due to your genetic heritage in the Ancient Ultramarc League.”

The lesson continued with the Primarchs learning more and more about there genetics and genesons with both the Sage and the Emperor teaching. This was an overview lesson and more detail in the countless topics and intricacies of Astartes creation would be discussed eventually. After an hour or two, the lecture concluded and the Primarchs adjourned for lunch. The Emperor followed them silently and thought to himself. “Oh, Children of Terra, your champions are coming.” 

The Primarchs day continued as usual with combat drills, Legion exercises with the first twenty, and more lessons. Another aspect of their education was a time when creativity was encouraged. Each of them engaged in an art or science they found particularly interesting. Some preferred more material arts like sculpting or smithing while some like Dante and surprisingly Moric preferring the spoken verse or composing music. Much to his chagrin Dante’s siblings often referred to his musical pieces as “Bird Song”

The Emperor spent the day watching and interacting with his sons. The long-dormant joy of being a parent crept deeper and deeper into the Master of Mankinds soul. Yet still shadows of worries and his eternal burden clung to him. As he watched the young Primarchs finish their evening duties and prepare to retire he whispered softly to himself “two hundred and ten years. Hopefully enough time…” 

The month sped by faster than either the Primarchs or the Emperor could wish. Every day the Primarchs impressed there Father, through intellect, martial skill, leadership, and wisdom surprising for such youths. In turn, the Emperor imparted knowledge, lessons, and paternal love to them in preparation for what was to come. The day of departure grew ever closer and the Emperor found himself becoming confident in his Sons. His Children of Terra were greater than he could ever hope, now it was time for him to bring the Children of Mars into the fold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received a fair amount of criticism for changing the Primarchs names but found it necessary. 
> 
> To have unique characters who are rooted in the legacy of the canon but uniquely them. Attached below is a link to a chart of the Primarchs and their legions. 
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HRQfvSDYsVRU4IPX1sK1VTkr0E-x71kVmq4jK8iT1M8/edit?usp=sharing


	6. Children of Mars (ch 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor leaves Terra and seeks to forge a treaty with Mars.

****

**Chapter Thirteen: Children of Mars**  
  
 _Location: Lions Gate Spaceport Primus (Under Construction)_  
  
The Last Month came to an end with a festival. A Parade of Triumph to mark the next stage of the Imperium, The Emperor flanked by a thousand Custodes marched out of the Inner Palace with Twenty Thousand Astartes and there Primarchs in full battle regalia behind them. Despite being children the Primarchs matched a large Terran Male in size and walked alongside there Gene-Sons in this great procession.  
  
Millions of Mortals watched this Parade from the sides of the grand parade avenue that stretched from the Inner Palace to the Lions Gate. The constant cheering formed a roar of such magnitude some unfinished parts of the Palace great macro-structure started to vibrate from the noise. The onlookers ranged from Old Terran Nobles on Grav-perches flitting about to swarms of menial workers from the palace's construction. Each and every one of them screamed their throats raw at the sight of unity incarnates arrival.  
  
The Conqueror of Terra marched in front of his Legions, he radiated power, nobility, and wisdom. All who witnessed him felt his raw might, yet none knew fear for this power that could end worlds and battle gods was their protector, the countless millions who watched knew the Master of Mankind had come and with him a new age, an age of heroes and hope.  
  
Thunderbolt Flags and sigils of Terran Unity flew proudly and behind him, Twenty Banners marked each with a single Ancient Numeral flew next to his Sons. As he marched the Emperor thought to himself how soon enough both of those flags would be changed, as they walked the shining path. The Twin Headed Aquila would be born and each simple Numeral would be replaced with a Legion Badge, both would go down in human history as sigils of unity and salvation.  
  
Chiding himself the Master of Mankind knew that was still a long way off and many trials still yet awaited him before even that step could be taken. First and foremost was Mars. The Red Planet had long been the technological center of humanity. Even after the insanity of the Iron War and the brutal Data-weapons first developed and deployed on Mars the second home of humanity endured and existed as a center of both knowledge and machines.  
  
Multiple Martian expeditions had come to Terra in order to scavenge resources and relics throughout the Unification Wars and had not taken kindly to the Emperor informing them there looting was no longer tolerated. The survivors now served excellently, and the salvage claimed from the fallen salvagers had provided excellent materials for the Astartes Arsenal. He may have gained knowledge of countless technological development from the message but not the ability to create materials or components out of thin air.  
  
Even with there superhuman size, the Legions took multiple Hours to reach the Lions Gate from the Inner Palace. As they Parade came to its triumphant conclusion at the Lions Gate Starport. Here the Emperor's Chariot of the Stars was docked: The Bucephalus. It was a colossal vessel, measuring twenty kilometers in length. Every square inch of the mighty flagship was a mastercrafted work of art.  
  
Five years ago the Ancient Vessel had been unearthed from its secret vault of Yum-hanger and its repairs had begun. Little over five thousand years ago in the guise of an eccentric businessman the Emperor had commissioned the vessel from the forges of Mars during the height of the Age of Technology. It had cost enough credits to buy a few star systems but it had been more than worth it. The master crafted vessel lacked any onboard AI’s and contained some of the finest technology that coin, influence and psychic powers could buy.  
  
Without an onboard AI, the vessel had been a very expensive and well-maintained Space-Hulk. Aside from its basic life support systems none of the vessels functions worked. At the time of its creation, it had been a source of much speculation among the Engineers and Silica-forms of Mars. The Emperor had commissioned the vessel as one of the countless contingencies against a possible AI uprising he had seen visions of. It had survived unharmed throughout the Old Night and its hanger acted as the base of operations for the Emperor early in the Unification Wars and now after years of modification and repairs by Terrawatt Clan members and captured Martians it was ready to sail the stars.  
  
At the Parades end the Emperor stood in front of the colossal vessels gantry and watched the Twenty Primarchs approach. They knelt as one before there father and he spoke to them softly “The universe has many horrors yet to throw at us my Sons. This is just the next step upon the shining path. You are all so young, yet so incredible already. Each of you will become legends to rival mine as we unify the Children of Terra. Be faithful! Be strong! Be vigilant my children! I will return to you and when I do the Galaxy awaits!”  
  
As each of them absorbed his message an individualized psychic pulse touched each of the Primarchs minds, final farewells and well wishes from there Father. At that, the Primarchs stood, were embraced by there father and left to rejoin there Legions. The Emperor watched them go with a mix of pride and somber joy. It might be a few weeks or a few years (his visions and estimates varied) till he saw them in person again. Till then both Father and Sons had duties to undertake.  
  
After a short speech to the assembled millions, the Emperor boarded The Bucephalus. The vessel was fully crewed by handpicked Terrawatt Void-Magi, countless Palatial Menials and a quarter of the Custodes. With the Hetaeron Guard at his back, the Master of Mankind journeyed to the Bridge of the great vessel. Thanks to great internal mag-lifts the journey that would have taken hours was minutes in length.  
  
The Bridge was a colossal thing filled with thousands of officers, crew, and adepts. Yet this number seemed a skeleton crew compared to what a vessel such as this should need. For once launched the Bucephalus’s true power would be revealed. As one the bridge crew bowed before the Emperor as he entered. He walked to the command throne of the vessel and spoke to the lead Void-Magi, a genius of ancient stalk by the name of Antoanar Pirard. “Is it ready Antoanar?” the Emperor asked.  
  
Twitching with excitement the Magi bowed ever lower and spoke “Yes my liege, the device has been installed exactly to your specifications, and all functions are operating as expected. The Bucephalus is void worthy and ready for your command!” At that the Emperor signalled the crew to be at ease and he prepared to take his seat upon the command throne of his new flagship. As he did thousands of eyes watched him take his place upon the seat of power and felt an unwanted ghoulish recollection/vision of a future not to be.  
  
  
*an ancient friend crumbles to dust at the softest touch as the last kernel of energy arcs through our bond.*  
  
  
*placed upon the throne/tomb by the somber Praetorian*  
  
  
* Final words gave life through the Hero spoken to the Praetorian and Warhawk.*  
  
  
*The Galaxy burns and We are a corpse-king on a throne of lost knowledge holding back the dark*  
  
  
  
The Emperor dismissed the future-memories and reached out with his psychic power. The throne hummed softly as the experimental Psi-conduits glowed with his power. He channeled his power through them and into the thing dwelling inside the vessels core. With a gentle psychic pulse, the heart of the Imperiums Flagship awoke.  
  
During the Age of Strife, the Emperor had sought countless solutions to the malities that afflicted humanity and the galaxy. The Imperium was not the first but the only one that might be able to stem the coming horrors. Some of these plans had produced tools that would, however, assist the Emperor Ambition. One of these tools had been installed into the Bucephalus and now stirred. The Cognatu-Ferrum had awoken.  
  
Psychic energy poured into the machine and its great crystalline circuits started to light up as if it were being awoken from some endless dream the first Machine Spirit was activated. In a voice that sounded like an Echo of the Emperors own the Machine spoke “Master….? Is it time…..?” in a psionic binary pulse the machines creator and owner answered, “Yes, it is time to visit your siblings upon the Dragons Tomb.”  
  
With that acknowledgment, psychic energy poured out of the machine into every corner of the colossal vessel. Generators activated, life support systems cycled up, weapon platforms started to hum and the Bucephalus came to life. The Cognatu-Ferrum had been born during the height of the Iron War when Silica monstrosities driven mad by both the Dragon of Mars and the Warps touch brought ruin to humanities stellar empire. It was an attempt to create a mechanical intelligence not susceptible to the taint of either steel or flesh.  
  
The Emperor had succeeded, it was a wonder of both science and warpcraft that was infused with Psychic energy that made it invisible to the Dragons power and its digital mind was built around a mixture of modified neural scans and the Thirteen Asimov-Zuklove Laws. It was immune to the Warps corruption and the Dragons Control while possessing capabilities matching a lowgrade ASI.  
  
Despite all its wonders, the Cognatu-Ferrum had one critical weakness: Power supply. The Machine required a truly tremendous supply of highly controlled psychic energy and storing such power was an impossibility for human technology. So in the end despite countless refinements and tweaks the First and Greatest Machine Spirit was the only of its make and only operable by its creator.  
  
Now that Machines intellect and power flowed through the Bucephalus and it was ready to fly. At the Emperor's command, ancient grav-generators activated and as millions of onlookers cheered the twenty-kilometer vessel gently rose into Terras Skies. Careful to not cause colossal atmospheric disturbances the Titan sailed serenely into low orbit, and the Emperor looked through the Cognatu-Ferrums eyes and saw the shrinking Imperial Palace below them. He touched his son's minds with a final farewell and peered into the void. Mars awaited him and the galaxy awaited the Imperium of man.

Moving at velocities once thought impossible to a Ship its size the Bucephalus cruised out of Terra’s gravity well and plotted a vector for Mars. Its colossal Plasma drives increased in power and the Emperor felt the Cognatu-Ferrum making near instantaneous adjustments to the city-sized vessel as they accelerated to a low fraction of LightSpeed. Ancient artificial gravity generators compensated for the ever-increasing G-forces and if not for the celestial bodies moving in the view-screens one would have a hard time telling the ship was even moving.  
  
After a few seconds of flight the ship passed close to Luna, even from here, the Emperor could detect the slight gap within the Warp located upon Luna’s Surface. Within a requisitioned Lunar watch-fort dozens of Psychic Nulls trained. The women who would eventually from the Anathema Pskyana had been gathered from both Luna and Terra throughout the Unification Wars.  
  
Countless abominable experiments both during and before Old Night had given the Sol System a higher than galactic average rate of Pariah Gene holders. The Emperor had briefly considered wiping them out, the nature and origin of the Gene were one of the many mysteries he still sought to unravel and his suspicions about its origins worried him, but for now, they were far too useful and loyal to deserve such a fate.  
  
As Luna passed by and the void beckoned the Emperor muttered to himself a phrase once carved upon the entrance gate of the first Port Luna “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” only Valdor was within earshot and he simply nodded slightly and the Emperor smiled softly.  
  
The First of the Ten Thousand had embraced the role of the warrior more than most of the Custodes and the Emperor could hardly blame him. Valdor had fought by the Emperor's side since he had been born from a Flesh-Forges within the Emperor's Himalazian stronghold. He had been built from the ground up as a masterwork of Gene-crafting the Emperor had only been able to improve on twice. With Taranis, whose abilities had come at a cost and the Primarchs.  
  
Eventually, Terra and Luna became specks within the ships viewport and The Emperor probed the Cognatu-Ferrum to ensure all systems were functional. It passed with flying colors and the Emperor left the Command Throne, his psychic power still feeding into the Vessel through the countless Psi-filament circuits that acted as the ships nervous system. With Valdor in tow, the Emperor went to speak with one of the maiden voyages passengers.  
  
He found the passenger staring out the main-view port of the vessel into the void. The passenger was practically pressed up against the Titan-sized view-hole and the Emperor could tell his enhanced senses were locked into a small red dot not visible to the naked eye. The Emperor couldn’t blame him, it was the nature of all humans lost in the wilderness to seek there home.  
  
Throughout the unification wars, numerous Martian expeditions to Terra had been captured by the Emperor. Most of these were primitive things lead by a particularly desperate, insane or foolish Tech-Priest and had been dealt with easily. There Automata were recycled, there weapons and tools were confiscated, and most of the Tech-Priests had been agreed to serve after speaking with the Emperor. The ones who hadn’t met the unpleasant fate of having scores of Terrawatt clan members and even former Mechanicum members dissect every aspect of there being in search of technological secrets.  
  
That was the typical pattern, the passenger had been the leader of one of those hunts for archeotech, but he had been anything but typical. An entire Skitarii Maniple, two Knight-Walkers and a few squads of Legio Cybernetica brazenly landed near one of the early capitals of the Imperium and attacked it in search of a stasis-vault of technology the Emperor had declared off limits yet too valuable to destroy. This surgical strike was not the haphazard salvage run but a retrieval operation. The Thunder Warriors had crushed the Skitarii utterly and the leader of the expedition had been captured alive. That leader now stood before the Emperor, A Tech-Priest known as Belisarius Cawl.  
  
Cawl was a brilliant and extremely dangerous Tech-Priest who had been slated for execution due to his crime of data-predation, blasphemy, unsanctioned-augmentation, and attempted an assassination of higher-ranking servants of the Machine God. When his assassination attempt on his Master failed and a punitive force closed in on his position Cawl had activated a Backdoor he had built into the Forge he worked in. About half of the cybernetic and mechanical forces of his former home along with numerous allies rebelled and escaped with him to Terra.  
  
Seeking an advantage over the vengeance of the Martian priesthood and possibly a way to buy his way back into there good fortunes he came to Terra in order to claim a particular artifact. Cawl had scoured records and long distances scan to find the location of the infamous Meme-Virus Primarium.  
  
This fusion of warp and nanite technology from the Golden Age allowed accesses to all knowledge possessed Meme-Virus infectees. This prime-virus would have allowed Cawl to not only vastly increase his own wisdom but infect foes with it and not just steal there knowledge but turn them into data-addicts ever feeding his memory banks. Ironically Cawl had never intended to use it in its most malignant ways and only intended to use it as a token of peace with Mars.  
  
Thankfully he had been stopped and captured. The Emperor had met with him and Cawl had simply looked upon the Emperor once before he started begging for the right to serve him. The Emperor had poured through the mind and soul of the tech-priest and found a soul of unfathomable curiosity and conviction. Cawl wanted to elevate himself and his species with the knowledge of the cosmos and the Emperor was reminded of ancient friends and allies of a long extinct order of knowledge seekers.  
  
The Scientists had gone extinct with the Iron War and now only cults of data and machinery existed in there place but Cawl and like-minded individuals brought the Emperor hope of maybe a return to humanities inquisitive roots. When he had been captured Cawl had expected a barbarian tyrant seeking to bully him into service, any being that called itself the “Emperor of Mankind” had to be.  
  
Belisarius had been utterly shocked when the being he had met, not the brutish gene-bulked thug he had expected but a Man of Purpose and intellect beyond Cawls wildest dream-protocols. Many on Mars accused Cawl of being a lunatic, a renegade unable to accept his place in the cosmos and serve his betters and the Deus Mechanica properly. This was not exactly the case.  
  
Cawl had honestly wanted to be a good servant of the Machine God for as long as he could remember, his faith comprised a core tenet of his belief and serving the source of knowledge and wisdom was his only true ambition. The problem had been the Mechanicum did not measure up to Cawls self-imposed standards. They were a bickering dogmatic group of knowledge hoarding egomaniacs. Belisarius Cawl had simply wanted to serve a master he deemed worthy, none on Mars had been but he one of Terra was.  
  
The Emperor and Cawl had quickly grown to admire each other and a working relationship between the two had formed. After decades of service, he had earned the Emperor's trust and had been even allowed to work on the Primarch Project. He had been responsible for numerous break through on the Black Carapace and even tutored the Primarchs on numerous occasions. Now side by side they were returning after to Mars after nearly a Century.  
  
They did not speak to each other, Cawl had barely seemed to notice the Emperor and acknowledged his presence with a quick bow. The two of them simply stared into the void as the Red dot in the distance slowly grew. The once multi-year journey would take only a few hours and that was with the Bucephalus flying at low power to not attract the attention of the countless Xeno Raiders stalking Sol. The Flagship could fight off virtually anything that could attack them but the Emperor did not want to risk a full-blown battle before what was supposed to be a diplomatic mission.  
  
Eventually, the Emperor spoke to Cawl: “They might not accept you back like you hope.” The Tech priest simply responded: “I will face the Judgment of Mars if that is to be my fate.” It was, in a alternate reality the Emperor had been forced to hand his ally over to the Mechanicum as part of the Treaty of Olympus, he had managed to get Cawls sentence commuted to the first of his many Memory wipes instead of execution but he hoped like many things, that Cawls fate could be changed.  
  
Speaking softly the Emperor continued: “ I have seen it, they will demand your execution and I will only be able to save your life not your mind.” To that Cawl seemed slightly shocked but he returned to the mechanical stoicism typical of his kind. The sudden hum from Cawls Atmosphere intake suggested he was doing the Mechancium equivalent of taking a deep breath before speaking. “I have planned for such even my Lord, within my Lab there is a data-core activated by the biometrics of you or one of the Primarchs. It contains a data program I call the Cawl Inferior. Consider it a contingency if such a fate occurs.”The Emperor's eyes widened and visions of possible futures entered his mind.  
  
*An avenging son stalking the ruins of the palace seeking any means to undo what has been done*  
  
*Hidden laboratory discovered and a secret uncovered. Communications with a group of refugees from Trisolian open up new possibilities*  
  
*The Master of Masters is reborn and travels the galaxy in search of knowledge, his inferior hoarding memories and thoughts to be stored in case of calamity*  
  
Smiling softly the Emperor responded “You never cease to impress me Cawl” the Tech Priest bowed low and responded “You honor me with such words my Lord” After that, they simply stood next to each other as Mars grew in the viewport. The Colossal Ring of Iron was now barely visible and the Emperor was reminded of ages past when under his prodding humanity had reached for the stars and first came to Mars. It had been one of his more oddly named identities but still highly successful in helping humanity advance.  
  
Soon millions of challenge hails from Mars and its countless orbital installations. The Emperor ordered them all to be answered with a simple message in perfect High Techna-Lingua. “We are the Imperium of Man, we seek to meet with the Mechanicum of Mars for peaceful contact” Billions of Weapon Platforms locked onto the Bucephalus yet none fired. The Emperor subtly influenced the trillions of machine spirits preparing to attack his ship to stand down as they approached Mars.  
  
The Twenty kilometer vessel soon pressed into the upper atmosphere of the Red Planet and the heat of the ship caused rolling storm clouds to form almost instantaneously as it slowly lowered towards the surface of Olympus Mons. The Emperor and Cawl nodded to each other and the Emperor made way to the main gantry of the Bucephalus. As he did he psychically pulsed one of his personal servants to bring a certain item to him. The Handmaiden along with two bulky armory-servitors (gifts from Cawl) met him. She bowed and the Emperor handed his blade to the Servitors and she gave him his Sceptre: The Augustus Xexillium.  
  
He was coming not as a Warrior-King but as a figure of unification and his symbol of office would be more fitting than a weapon of war. Finally, the Imperial Flagship, covered in storm clouds touched the surface of Mars and the Emperor walked down the gantry and set foot upon the second home of the Human Species.

The Emperor looked across the Crater that formed the inverted peak of Olympus Mons and smiled internally, so far it lined up with his visions and future memories. Tens of thousands of Priests, Skitarii and Servitors watched from the crater's rim and about half a Dozen Knight-Walkers were in combat positions around the exit ramp. Slowly stepping towards the first Knight the Emperor touched his mind and spoke:  
  
'Your machine is damaged, Taymon Verticorda,' the pilot mind was overtaxed by being in the Emperor's presence and was not capable of forming a complete sentence let alone attacking. Speaking again the Emperor asked 'May I?'  
  
Not waiting for a reply the Master of Mankind reached out to touch the Walkers knee joint while working to keep his presence from utterly overwhelming the pilot. Controlling his aura had been one of the first skills the Emperor had mastered when he left his village after killing his uncle. Over the eons as both his power and embedment into the human subconscious increased the effects of his psychic light had become more pronounced. At first, it simply transfixed and soothed Humans who viewed it, now it could cause strokes if he was not careful.  
  
The minute he touched the Knight-Walker he could feel the machines pseudo-soul. Along with telekinetically healing and realigning the machine's parts, he soothed what the Martians called a Machine Spirit. Speaking with a voice that could make entire worlds kneel if he so wished he spoke to the Knight. 'Machine, heal thyself,'  
  
It followed its masters wish and the Knight-Walker was returned to perfection. Still stunned the pilot asked quietly: “'Who are you?'  
  
The being known across the ages as Atham, Revelation, Yeshua, Abriel, Gilgamesh and so many more names declared himself a title only he could ever truly claim 'I am the Emperor'  
  
That simple phrase would be repeated countless times by Atham of Pessinus throughout his conquest of the stars and the response he received was not the first nor the last of its kind 'Welcome to Mars, my lord, All praise to the Omnissiah.'  
  
Omnissiah: The Physical manifestation of the God in the Machine. A mythological figure of Mars that rose out of the same trauma and horror that created the Cult Mechanicus. Mars had once been the technological and industrial powerhouse of humanity. This made the rebellion and Old Night all that much more horrific. The War against the Machines had damaged its people in ways more severe than practically anywhere else in the countless domains of man.  
  
The multiple Martian apocalypses of the Iron War and the Singularity Purging deleted not just the ASI silica-gods of the Neurosphere but the Standard template constructs databases. Basic knowledge of even maintenance became rare. Yet the survivors scavenged the corpse of the greatest manufacturing and research world of humanity to jury-rig new technology and machinery through a mix of trial, error and sheer luck.  
  
Over the centuries this credo of mechanical reverence, superstitious paranoia, and genuine genius consolidated into the Priesthood of Mars. This strange cult managed to rebuild the surface and topmost layers of the Red Planet into a working Forge World. They had also managed to send colonial expeditions to other fallen Forges across the galaxy in order to rebuild and reignite them.  
  
The Martians considered themselves the rightful inheritors of the Machine God's will and destined to reach the perfect union of steel and soul. This was more than simple self-ordained manifest destiny. The Martians through some quirk of fate, or possibly natural selection had discovered one of the few avenues of technology still open to humanity after the calamities of the Iron War. The Martian Mechanicum had discovered how to make and harness Machine Spirits.  
  
They were different and far far more primitive than the work of art known as the Cognatu-Ferrum. Where the Emperor had installed a soul echo into a machine to create a Psi-AI protected from both Warp and Dragon the Martians had grown mutilated chunks of brains and used them as computational units.  
  
Since the discoveries of both the Soul and Stable Cloning, a debate had raged throughout human civilization on whether a clone would possess a soul. Numerous rather grizzly studies conducted during the Golden Age had answered these questions and started the Replicae Rights movement. Clones do indeed have souls but they were lesser than the originals. A colleague of the Emperor had described it as “a faded copy of the original”  
  
Yet they still had souls and when the Martians started using cloned tissue to replace silicon and circuitry they inadvertently created billions if not trillions of lobotomized souls that infested the machinery and subtly influenced them. These aptly named Machine Spirits protected whatever they inhabited from the Dragons dominion and they were such broken things that only the most driven Neverborn could latch onto the pseudo-emotions they felt to control them. Even then layers of ritual, belief and half-understood warding equations protected the Machine Spirits.  
  
The Mechanicum may have been flawed but they were the rightful heirs they claimed to be. Similarly, the Emperor did have a claim to the title the Knight Pilot had called him. Ages ago he had bested the true Machine God and sealed it beneath Mars surface to help his species master the Material. While his connection to humanities Oversoul and existence as the ward of the faithful dead made him beloved to the Machine Spirits. The Emperor was the Omnissiah and he had come to Mars.  
  
The Knight-Walker and the rest of its squad formed an Honor Guard around the Emperor as they left the crater. More and more citizens of Mars joined the procession. Soon thousands followed the Emperor in a grand river of Mechanicum Red and cybernetic grey. Binary whispers filled the air and a few particularly brave Priests moved in between the Knights legs to catch a better view of the Golden Stranger.  
  
Each of them reported back to there cadres and workmates that what they had seen had to be the Omnissiah. This climaxed when a brash Tech-priest whose barely earned Surface lung implants rasped with the effort of filtering Mars atmosphere rushed up to the Emperor and touched his cloak as if it ensure it was real. A Knight leveled its weapons against her and she fell back in fear, her rapture replaced with horror at what she had done. The Emperor stopped and helped the young women to her feet and gestured for the knight to stand down.  
  
She twittered countless apologies and prayers in binary while trying to back into the crowd. The Emperor touched her shoulder, a soft glow filled the women's vision and her cybernetic lungs inhaled a deep quiet breath of Martian Air. Internally the Emperor sighed and thought “Another cult, another miracle, another punishment for my mistake”  
  
He intensely disliked it but centuries of trying to harness humanity obsession with faith had made the Emperor very good at playing the savior. Eventually, the Mechanicum would be subtly reformed to become a better breed of institute, not shackled by dogma and superstition. Yet now first things first. The Parliament of Mars awaited.  
  
The First of the Knights crested the Craters edge and with each step, the skyline of Tharsis became more and more visible. The great industrial Forge-Cityscape spread to the horizon and as he finally exited the crater the Emperor diluted and expanded his Aura into a golden corona visible from low orbit. Another touch to help the coming negotiations.  
  
The first knight, the one who the Emperor had healed stopped. The Emperor could feel the Walkers machine spirits swarming into its Vox and Hailer systems as the pilot redirected power into them. In a shout that ruined unaugmented eardrums in five square kilometers, the Knight known as the Ares Lictor broadcasted its message. “Hail! Children of Mars! The Omnissiah has come!”  
  
With that, the procession continued and swelled millions of Martians of all walks of life joined the throng in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Omnissiah. Religious fervor brought on by the Emperor's aura stopped any attempts to attack or waylay the parade and slowly but surely the Emperor of Mankind reached the Temple of All Knowledge.  
  
The Martian Holy of Holies was carved into Olympus Mon and its grand gate reached nearly a kilometer in height. On either side of the Temple-Caverns entrance where Super-Titans. In another existence, they would be known as Imperator Titans, in honor of him. As of now the Twin behemoths that were nearly half the gates height were aiming City-devastating Weapons at the Emperor. With an imperceivable psychic pulse, the brutal Machine Spirits of the two titans submitted to there master and to there Preceps shock the Titans each knelt before him.  
  
Flanked by the supplicant God-Machines the Emperor of mankind entered the Temple of All Knowledge. Within a year he would exit the grand sanctuary with a first copy of the Treaty of Olympus Mons in hand. Unified at last the Children of Terra and Mars would stand together in the face of a galaxy of woes.


	7. Tales from the Imperial Palace (ch 14 pt1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two short stories about the Primarch's childhood and adolescence.

**Chapter Fourteen: Tales from the Palace and Beyond**

_Part I: The Haunting of the Imperial Palace_   
_Three Months after the Emperor left for Mars._

It started small at first, strange shadows, whispers in the dark, night terrors among the menials. To the residents of the Imperial Palace nothing was wrong, just more grist for the rumor mill ever present among servants. Stories of ghosts and monsters wandering the halls late at night and doing unspeakable things to those unlucky enough to be caught by them. This all changed when the first body was discovered.

Deaths were not uncommon within the palace, from natural, accidental or violent causes. So normally a corpse showing up in an inner palace construction site might warrant a senior Arbities investigation or even a Custodes involvement if it was close enough to a place of importance. This was an anything but normal case.

Gotfiar Yeon had been an upstanding and loyal servant of the Imperium and no amount of digging revealed anything about him that made his fate seem in any way just. The construction foreman for Mid-palace construction zone 491-12.1 was found gruesomely butchered and displayed in his former work site.

His skin had been flayed and stretched into a horrific banner of pain. 74% of his bones had been broken into new and distorted positions and blood splatter could be found in a nearly fifty feet radius of the body. Yet arguably worse of all, his face had been perfectly unharmed by the actions and he was easily recognizable to his friends and colleagues who discovered him. The expression he wore was one of utter primal terror that rigor mortis had stretched taught.

The brutality and dramatic nature of both death and body display almost instantly caught the attention of a multiple Imperial Agencies all trained to watch for markers of Chaotic Activity. The Emperor had been extremely thorough in his destruction of Terra's taint but being too thorough is an impossibility when dealing with the Great Enemy.

Eyes of both Malcador and the Emperor soon swarmed the crime scene and despite the finest minds and equipment, the Imperium had to offer no answers could be found. It was almost as if the shadows themselves had killed the poor man. The Investigation was still in full swing when the second murder occurred. It did not stop there, every few days the increasingly worried Agents of the Imperium would receive new reports and still were no closer to their goal. Soon the murders seemingly committed by no one started whispers of a ghost within the palace.

Every few days another random individual, from menial to High-adept was plucked away and butchered. Inhabitants of the place started to report sightings of what they described as “Living shadows” stalking the palace and sightings increased shortly before or after an incident. The palace was in a constant state of turmoil and the Custodes hunted the being that dared to defile their masters home. Little did they or anyone else know the source of the horrors slept badly deep within the Inner Palace.

Ever since his Father had left the regularity and intensity of Konrad Cruze's nightmare increased. Soon the Eighth son of the Emperor was turned into a gaunt wreck of himself, sleep deprivation and trauma were taking their toll. His performance in academics started to slip but his combat performance actually improved, yet in disturbing ways. Konrad was no longer the calculating master of shadows but an ugly terror-inducing gutter fighter.

His brothers attempted to help in their own ways. Tyric, Kalib, and Magnus all independent of each other snuck into his quarters to place wards against evil spirits, witches, and the warp respectively. It worked for a while but eventually, they burnt out from the phenomenon's intensity.

So far the only being capable of stopping the Nightmares was Konrads Father, in The Emperor's absence, his Matrari attempted to use her powers to help. Theresa Nellie was one of the most powerful Empaths ever discovered. She could not just feel emotions of others but manipulate them on a massive scale. Nellie had been enslaved from a young age by a minor Terran Warlord, since the day of her kidnapping she had plotted the tyrants downfall.

Slowly she magnified the negative emotions of her captives lieutenants to drive each and everyone insane or lose there masters favor. Theresa’s actions had weakened the Warlord enough that the still young Imperium could conquer the fiefdom. At first, she prepared to do the same to the oncoming Legion. Yet when she saw the Man at the lead of the army she realized what was coming was not just another form of damnation, but salvation carrying a thunderbolt.

In a act of vengeance for all she had been forced to do and for her family butchered at the Warlords hands she magnified his sense of guilt a few billion times over. The once cruel grasping tyrant ordered his strongholds defenses lowered. He ran out the front gate blubbering like a infant and begged for death. His request was granted and Theresa had been recruited by Malcador and eventually was chosen for her position due to her powers being able to effectively counter some of Konrads if they went haywire.

So far she had limited success and managed to keep Konrad relatively sane and stop his psychic powers from driving have the menial staff of the inner palace mad with fear. Now simply whatever was butchering them was. The Nightmares got only worse as time went on and the murders more frequent and brutal.

Eventually, Malcador realized there had to be some sort of connection between the nightmares Konrad refused to speak of and the murders. He had seen the memories of the broken evil thing that the Four had intended to twist him into and the crimes being committed stunk of that Cruze. The Sigillite did not want to consider it but he must, it was becoming increasingly likely that this Cruze was more akin to his counterpart then thought possible.

Malcador requested a Ephori Custodes keep secret watch over Konrad Curze. Soon a particularly masterful walker of shadows stalked the Emperor's Eighth son with none the wiser. After a week or two sightings of the ghost reached an all time high and the Watcher prepared for whatever would come. The next morning the Primarch Quarter was awoken by screaming.

They found Konrad curled into a ball in one of his apartments halls. He was slick with blood and the Ephori lay twitching in a puddle of his ichor that was smeared onto the Eighth Son. Despite his Matarai and his brothers protests, Konrad was spirited away to some of Malcadors secret chambers and the body was investigated.

The Custodes had died much cleaner than the others, the hallway showed the reasons. He had dueled something and lost. It had not been an execution like the others but a battle. As Konrad waited under guard from a full complement of Palace Guards and Custodes. Malcador, the three of the five Tribunes on terra and Arik Taranis watched the helm footage of the Custodes. He had been a diligent servant of the Emperor and recorded the entire fight, and when he realized he was outmatched prioritized footage quality over his own survival.

They watched as the Custodes rushed from his hiding place to the door outside of Konrads quarters. Secretly placed sensors both arcane and otherwise had been triggered and they watched through his eyes as a pool of oily shadow oozed out from under the door.

It noticed the Custodes and turned into a mass of blades and smoke. The Custodes barely had time to block and was slowly peeled apart by the supernatural thing. The touch of the warp prevented his call from help and the Custodes resigned to his faith and prepared to die protecting the Emperor's sons. The fight finished and the shadow lurched forward for the kill and between the folds of shadow and smoke, Malcador saw something that sent a chill down his aged spine.

Peering out from the creatures heart was a face, a horribly familiar face. Its hair was black and matted with gore, the skin was waxy and dead looking. Each tooth looked jagged and fang-like and its eyes… by the Lightning Bolt, its eyes were the dead black of a ancient Carcharodon. It was a face from a forgotten future, it was the Konrad Curze of Nostromo.

The custodes was impaled and then slowly slid off the creatures blade/arms as it looked on with a sickening grin. Suddenly like a flickering hololith, it faded from being and shortly after a wild eyed child-Konrad entered the hallway and fell to his knees in horror. Softly Malcador said “I have seen enough, we must go to Konrad”

With an irate Theresa in tow, they joined the sobbing Konrad and Theresa ran to the blood soaked child and held him as Malcador quietly approached. Malcador took a dataslate form a servant and pulled up the image of the other Cruze. He set it before the shaking child and asked gently “Do you know who that is?”

A mix of fear, guilt, hate and misery passed through the young Primarch and with a trembling voice said: “He said he will kill you all if I tell him, that while father is gone none can stop him.”

Placing a soft hand on Konrad’s shoulder Malcador used his own formidable power to ease the child's heart and pulsed Theresa to do the same. The Sigillite continued “Your Uncle Malcador has seen and done a lot over the Millenia. The thing that is scaring you is a lie given form. It hides and ambushes those weaker than it. It barely won against a single Custodes and tried to avoid that battle. That thing can do nothing to me, your brothers or Theresa. You have my word we'll stop it from hurting anyone else.”

Calming down slightly Konrad took a deep breath and said in a shuddering whisper “He came to me in dreams after Father left, I had dreamt about him before but it had been liking watching a Pictcast, this… this was really being with him. He said he was me, what I was going to become. He said I was going to become him, the Night Haunter”

Malcador was both relieved and horrified. Konrad was not born a monster but one had latched onto his soul and was hard at work corrupting him. If this being was truly what it claimed and what Malcador feared, then it would be difficult to dislodge. Konrad was taken back by Theresa to clean up and rest for the coming ordeal. The Imperial Palace was indeed haunted, haunted by a ghost of futures prevented. Now it was the duty of the Lord Sigillite to exorcise it.

A week later after vigorous preparation, Malcador returned with Eight heavily armored women who caused shivers to dance along the spine of any who got to close. These were not the Sisters of Silence, but the seeds that would grow into that mighty order. Konrad had been kept in a medicated coma for most of the week. Malcador had correctly deduced the apparition was connected to the young Primarchs dreams. The drugs used kept him from dreaming and Theresa sat by his bedside night and day soothing his transhuman mind as much as her considerable powers allowed.

Malcador entered flanked by the Eight Women and Theresa nearly jumped out of her chair and scrambled to put herself in front of her adopted child. Her psychic nature told her exactly what the Women were and she assumed the worse. “Do not hurt him Malcador! I swear on Konrads Father I will hound you to ends of the galaxy if you dare unleash… THEM on him”

The Women looked at each other a mixture of dark amusement and resignation to there nature flickered over there stoic faces and Malcador spoke. “Calm yourself my dear, they are here to protect not destroy. I do not know how strong the Warp phenomena will be and want to keep everyone safe.”

Theresa Nellie relaxed at that and asked the loaded question that had plagued her for a week “What's going on and what do you intend to do?”

Somberness spread across Malcadors face as he explained. “A warp entity of remarkable power has latched onto his soul, I can not tell you the details for his safety but this being possesses a power link to Konrad within the Warp and has used him as a gate to enter our realm.”

Theresa’s eyebrows rose as she responded “I though even the most Psychically active Primarchs were protected from such things? The soulbond and their father's blood should protect them. How is this occurring?”

“Like I said this being possesses a incredible psychic bond with him and its peculiar nature allowed it to slip past the protections.”

Malcador privately thought “It always seems to be the loophole, the webway project could survive the full might of the Four but not a Primarchs. The Primarchs warding could keep out any taint except them…”

Continuing to Theresa Malcador spoke: “This being must be exorcised to save him. I possess the power to do so but I fear it would damage him. It would be like setting fire to a building to drive out the vermin. So another solution must be reached.”

He walked up to the sleeping child and placed a hand on his forehead. “I will empower him to cast it out. The Emperor made it very clear anything done to the Primarch in his absence requires both mine and there Matrari’s consent. Do you?”

Frowning for a split second she quickly responded: “You are held in the Emperor's highest trust so you are in mine well.”

Malcador nodded softly and reached into the Primarchs mind. A bit of biomancy removed the drugs effects, he needed to dream for this. Soon Malcador found himself somewhere dark, a filthy shadowy place he recognized from data slates long ago and the Emperors future memories. Malcador was on Nostromo: The Dark World.

He heard a slight noise and the wizened psyker strode down the streets encrusted with blood, piss, and excrement to the source of the sound. Malcador recognized it soon as a child crying and soon found a filthy child hiding in a dark alley. He recognized the features and realized the urchin covered in grime was Konrad Curze. The child looked up at him and Malcadors blood ran cold. This was not his Konrad.

Grinning sadistically a thing made of knives and shadows started to peel out of the child's skin. A wet giggle escaped its throat as it loomed over Malcador “My, my dear Father's favorite pet comes a calling! Where is the old...older man anyway? Lose his spawn again or abandon them for the good of humanity?”

Malcador mustered his psychic will and shielded himself from the being's corrosive power before responding harshly “You know as well as I do you only dared to rear your feted head with him off-world. Ever the coward aren't you Cruze?”

The Thing chuckled mirthlessly “Oh I am not Konrad, he is long gone. He took the assassin's blade in a pitiable attempt to earn forgiveness. Me, I took the blade to vindicate what we had always said. That the Imperium was made by murder and despite its lofty goals would still need us or things like us.”

Snarling softly Malcador raised his staff and let it flair with power as spoke “So the rumors were true, this planet broke you into two. Konrad Curze rests with that Emperor's light. It is time to send the Night Haunter back to the pit it belongs”

Before the first blows could be struck a blast of dust and silver exploded before them, the Night Haunter recoiled and a hand-pulled Malcador away from it. The old man could barely keep up with the frantic child who pulled him through side streets until they reached a filth stained version of Konrads room in reality. Malcador had been brought into the Eight primarchs hiding place within his own mind.

The frantic child started speaking impossibly quickly “UNCLE MALCADOR YOU CAN”T BEAT HIM NOTHING WORKS HE JUST COMES BACK THE NIGHT HAUNTER ALWAYS COMES BACK”

Malcador calmed the child and said, “Yes you are correct Konrad I can not defeat him, but you can.”

Konrad was dumbstruck before Malcador continued “That thing is a parasite latched onto your mind. It is powerful but it is your mind and you control it. Right now you are too young and inexperienced to beat it. Yet I am old and experienced. I will give you all the tools needed to remove it and you will save yourself Konrad.”

Panic and confusion momentarily blossomed over the Eight Primarchs face but he was his Father's son and resolution soon filled him. Nodding slowly he agreed and Malcador placed his hand on Konrads forehead. A Blast of energy shook the dream scape and where once had stood a young Konrad and a elderly Malcador was a single being. A Primarch in his prime empowered by ancient knowledge. A future Konrad Cruze, the Primarch of the Shadow Scions came into being.

The form was created from a mix of Konrads own dreams, Malcadors foresight and the Emperors ideal. If the Nighthaunter was the worst the Eighth Primarch could be, then this was the best. Konrad piloted the dream-form and was shocked by the countless techniques and powers available to him from Malcadors mind. Konrad did not know this but the Grand Master of Assassins had millenia ago earned that future title not simply in loyalty and authority, but wetwork skills.

Now two Primarchs, one form the best future and one from the worst stood across from each other. A King of the Night versus a Nightmare given flesh. In a dreamscape of a Nostromo alley, two demigods batteled. Monofilament blades filled the air, crackling talons shredded armor and flesh. They both held psychic mastery of the darkness, and it seemed the very night itself battled over who would be its rightful master.

For hours and seconds, they ripped at each other with countless weapons both mental and physical. The Night Haunter spat insults, curses and taunts the entire while. “Your Father will cast you aside like he did us! You are already broken, and he has no use for broken tools! I am going to crawl out of your skin and force feed that mother dearest of yours her own entrails! Everyone knows the tragedy of poor Konrad Curze, how he was too weak and let his inner Demons swallow him whole, now it's time for a second meal!”

Konrad remained silent the entire fight as sparks flew and blood splattered across the increasingly ruined alleyway. They were evenly matched, neither side could gain an advantage and it seemed the fight was doomed to end with Konrad cracking under the strain of wielding a mixture of his and Malcadors power. Suddenly a thought from Malcador whispered a path to victory.

Running low he clinched his doppelganger and simply whispered a simple phrase into the broken things face. “There was another way, you just had to try.”

The Night Haunter looked like a lighting claw had been driven into it with those words. A moment later two had been. The split second was all it took for Konrad to impale the monster and start to shred it apart. The Eighth son spat into the Night Haunters face and said “You are a sad, pathetic thing, bound by strings of fate easily cut and unable to become what you were meant to be. The Night Haunter of Nostromo is dead, you hold no power over me. Be gone from here filth”

The Night Haunter started to shatter like burnt glass on Konrads Claws and the fading monster rasped. “I have a message from the four to father.”

Malcador snarled internally, of course, they were behind this. The Night Haunter was never a favored servant of there's but after being ripped away from the original Curze this more twisted version of the Eight Primarch found a place within the great game.

The Quickly cracking Night haunter gave the message “We have claimed countless of your spawn, Anathema. One universe of temporary salvation will fall before the infinites of damnation.”

With that, the Night Haunter exploded into black glass with a psychotic laugh and was banished. Malcador and Konrad separated. The Child was stunned but confident. The monster that stalked his mind was banished. He had beat it once, he could beat it again. Malcador placed a hand on Konrads shoulder and pulled them both back into reality. On the way, Malcador tweaked Konrads memory. Somethings were best left forgotten and others were not for Konrad to know yet.

They both awoke back into the med-room and the Eight Blanks went to immediate battle stations. With a gesture in thought-mark, they were put at ease. Konrad awoke to find Theresa passed out next to his bed. He gently shook her awake and she embraced him with tears in her eyes. When she asked what happened Konrad simply smiled and said “I beat the Monster, it's gone. He won’t hurt anyone again”

Malcador left the duo with the Sisters and watched the 19/20 other Primarchs pile into the room to check in on their sibling. Over the next few months, Konrad would grow leaps and bounds into one of the greatest of his brothers. His Daemons were banished and the King of the Night was poised to take his throne. Yet new worries wracked the Sigilites aged bones. The Four were plotting, they may have saved these heroes-to-be but other fallen princes of the Imperium awaited to fulfill the will of thirsting gods.

* * *

_Part II The Humbling of the Mage._

_Five Months after the Emperor left for Mars._

Arik Taranis leaned his massive bulk against the banister and was pleasantly surprised it didn’t groan in protest. The Primarchs accommodations, where he now stood were one of the few places he did not need to watch his every move to ensure he did not leave it a ruin. The Emperor had not gifted him and his fellow prototypes with the same level of micro-motor skills that the next generations of enhanced warriors possessed. They had been built as destroyers, Gods of Destruction crafted to burn away the ruins of humanities fallen empire so a new one could rise. Things such as fine motor skills, stable Hypno-indoctrination, and their lifespans had been sacrificed for raw power.

Arik felt little ill will towards his creator for it, he had seen exactly how far humanity had fallen during the Old Night and had helped haul it back from the edge of extinction kicking and screaming. Taranis knew how close humanity had come to the end and if the Emperor waited just a little longer there might not have been a species to save. Being created flawed seemed a small price to pay.

Even so, they were far beyond a normal human but lacking compared to the Primarchs he watched train below him. Arik himself being closer to the Primarchs was still far far above the Astartes Baseline but it did not come naturally to him. He had to watch his every movement in more fragile environments. These thoughts drifted through the old champion's mind as he viewed the combat drills performed below. He stood on an observation deck overlooking a section of the Imperial Palaces training grounds.

He had passed through the Legion Yards and seen the adolescent Astartes being drilled in countless martial and tactical skills by Ghota and a handpicked group of Unification Wars Vets. His last surviving son had taken to his role of Drill instructor well and had often referred to the legions as the “piss-brained limp wristed mutts with potential”

That was the closest he could easily come to praise for the Astartes. To both Arik and Ghota, they had at first seemed lacking. Not strong enough, not fast enough, not vicious enough, nothing compared to the Thunder Warriors glory. That was until they saw the Legio Astartes fight as they were meant to. Not as warriors or even soldiers but as Armies.

The Thunder Warriors were known by that epitaph instead of their title due to them being true Warriors, the Legion organization of them was more for easier management than an actual command structure. They fought side by side but individually. Not so much an army but a group of monsters rampaging together.

Malcador had once after observing a series of duels between Custodes and Thunder Warriors made a comparison that would be often used. “The Thunder Warriors are like great Ursine-beasts. Existing only in bored hibernative stupors during peace and vicious forces of destruction during war. By comparison, the Custodes are Alpha-Felines. Regal, Terrible, Apex Predators, meant to be perfect in every conceivable way”

Arik grudgingly agreed with the assessment and viewed the Astartes as being the third part of this Transhuman trinity. If the Thunder Warriors were Bears, the Custodes Lions then the Astartes were Wolves. Easily broken by a lazy strike from their predecessors but worked as a pack capable of wearing down and ripping the first two apart.

As the years of training had gone on Ghota had expressed concern to Arik that these wolves were just that, not hounds and negligible to bite the hand that feeds. Conversations with the Boss and Malcador had made it evident to the Lighting Bearer that was indeed a great concern and they were betting on the wolves doing what wolves do: follow the Alpha.

The Alphas in question were dueling within reinforced Practice Cages below Arik. Part of the Primarchs training involved daily duels against each other to foster both martial skill and camaraderie between them. Each day they were randomly divided up into dueling pairs, (Alpharius and Omegon flipped a coin or some days fought together.) and fought under certain conditions chosen to keep them adaptable and skilled in things other than their specialty.

Sometimes they fought with just hands and feet, other times engaging in running gun battles. Today they fought with a weapon of their choosing and nothing else. No warp born power, no physical gifts, no hidden weapons or alchemical concoctions. Just steel and grit.

This suited some fine, it annoyed a few but only one Primarch was openly contemptuous of this particular challenge: Magnus. Taranis watched the crimson haired Primarch duel his older brother Eddard. Arguably the greatest martially of the Primarch, Eddard combined elements of the skill of Iskandar, the physicality of Vulkan, Tyric’s ferocity and the twins X-factor into what even Arik had to admit would probably be the greatest warrior humanity had ever seen. He was losing badly.

To a casual observer, it would seem Eddard was simply losing to a superior warrior. His guard was just an instant too slow or his blade lacked the power to properly damage his sibling. Arik knew the truth, centuries of battling things not meant to be had given him a good nose for detecting the Warps touch. He had to admit Magnus’s skill at it was flawless. Somehow without any detection, he was dilating time to the smallest degree for both him and his brother. Making himself an instant faster and Eddard an instant slower.

A faint distortion of the air around the pair was the only indication and was not visible to unaugmented eyes. This along with what Arik was fairly certain was impressively subtle biomancy if the slight ozone-twinge to Magnus’s scent was any indication gave him a considerable edge over his brother. The battle had been going on for a minute or so and it amused Arik to notice the shift that overcame Eddard when he realized his brother was not going to stop and this was not some secret test but Magnus cheating.

Eddard did not burn with a vicious fury like Tyric, Culain or Kalib. When he got angry he became focused but much more vicious than his more fiery siblings. His Matrari had once compared it to a laser that seared through whatever had gained his ire. Now that white-hot intensity scorched at Magnus.

The Young Lion as he was so often called started to push his body and mind to its absolute limit. No longer caring about martial precision or even his guard Eddard switched to a combat style taught to him by a Fallen Sword-Saint of Gredbritton. It was a supremely offensive style that sacrificed all defensive stances and measures for a devastatingly effective battle-trance that defended by simply making it so the opponent could not attack.

Even with the Mages multiple advantages, he was starting to be pushed back. Magnus was forced to stop lashing out with the bladed edges of his Zhen-Staff and focus on simply keeping Eddards longsword away from him. That was his mistake, his weapon was designed to keep his foe away from him while he cast spells. Being forced to block meant his foe was far closer than he should be.

Eddard did not stop, he continued to wail into his brother with focused passion. Magnus could only slow the pace he was being forced back by the flurry of blows. Arik sensed the time dilation increase but it was too little too late. Magnus was backed into one of the corners of the cage and his confident exterior started to crack. Eddards blade seemed to be in multiple places at once and soon the mage's armor was checkered with the electric burn marks indicating Eddard's sword had made contact.

Letting loose an angry scream Magnus gambled on a lunge that on the battlefield would take virtually anything head off. Eddard was not anywhere near where the spade-shaped end of the double-edged staff was stabbed. It took Magnus a second to realize his brother had jumped a few feet straight into the air and was now descending like the predatory Jungle-Cats he was often compared too.

Even Arik had to admit it was a masterful bit of misdirection leading to a great killing blow. Eddard landed on the Zhen-Staffs shaft and pinned it to the floor while bringing his longsword down onto the joint where Magnus’s Cuirass and Gorget met. The combination of Transhuman muscle and gravity should have let the dull buzz-blade rip through the protective armor and severely bruise if not fracture Magnus’s collarbone. It should have been a definite kill strike. Emphasis on should.

While the blade was just a few inches from his neck Magnus had blurted out an incantation, a small flash of light filled the practice cage and Eddard was left to stare at his blade in a mix of annoyance and surprise. The blade had been changed by Magnus’s magic and became rubbery and elastic. The Longsword now lay drooped over his brother's shoulder like a length of rope. Seeing the jig was up Magnus blossomed with power and knocked his sibling back with a telekinetic wave. Eddard quickly sprang to his feet and was met by the Zheng-Staffs kopsheh blade to his throat.

With his own sword flopping uselessly in his hand the First Primarch’s eyes narrowed in vicious fury as he spat out the words he despised about all “I surrender”

Grinning foolishly Magnus lowered his own weapon and was about to start speaking before a mailed fist pummeled into his face. The Fifteenth Primarch went sprawling and Eddard was on top of him. His composure had been compromised and he ripped into Magnus. The Arena-attendants that had been monitoring the fight were unsure what to do and did not want to get between the two. Arik could have easily dropped down and ended the fight but decided he could wait a minute or two.

Eddard roared into his brothers face “DID YOU SEE MY BLADE IGNITE IN WHITE FIRE? DID MY FLESH GLOW WITH PSYCHIC MIGHT? I SHUT OFF EVEN MY WARRIOR-INSTINCTS! YET YOU FLAUNTED YOUR POWERS AND ACTED HONORLESS!”

Another bone-crushing wave of energy smashed into Eddard, sending him tumbling back. The snarling First Son clambered to his feet. Arik could feel the Older Primarch mustering his own warp-gifts along with his considerable mental and physical fortitude in order to strike back. Soul-Fyre started to crackle in his hands and he let psychic energy pour into his muscles to enhance him. Right now Eddard stood as a paragon of what a Primarch could be. A bonding of humanities mastery over both physical and spiritual crystallized into a young hero. He never stood a chance.

Each of the Primarchs was connected to the Warp and could wield formidable psychic powers both consciously and unconsciously. Some could manipulate the minds of lesser beings, others enhance their body or mind past its already transhuman limits. Both the Emperor and Malcador had educated them in the use of these gifts and all of them could control an wield them. Yet one stood above the rest in sheer power. Magnus now used that power to utterly subjugate his brother.

Eddard had barely made a few steps towards Magnus before a psychic wave that would have stripped the flesh from a mortals bones smashed him into the far wall of the practice cage. He was held aloft in the dent his body had made in the Cages bars. Magnus floated to his feet and hovered towards his brother, all while increasing the pressure on him.

Psychic energy bled from the Mages eyes as he trembled with fury. Eddard's composure had cracked earlier, and his focused anger had become a primitive vicious fury. Now Magnus’s composure was compromised and a mercurial coldness poured off of him as he spoke.

“You surrendered. I won and then you still attacked me. Where was that honor you aspire to brother? You lost and then you attacked me for being better than you. I’m ashamed for you Eddard.”

Arik could only gap in mild shock. Was this brat really that arrogant? He had been a few years dealing with a few minor uprisings and he had returned to Magnus being a right little snotling. At first, he had intended to only watch but now he knew a bit of Uncle Arik’s “guidance” was in order. Eddard, in turn, responded the best he could with nearly fifty g’s on his chest “A-a-are you…. Serious? Mag-g-gnus you cheated with yuuurr powers and beesmurched the arena.”

Magnus scoffed and responded “Father gifted you with steely muscles and reflexes capable of catching bolt-shells. Just as he gifted me with the powers of the warp. You are using your gifts just as I was using mine.”

Before Eddard could respond a few hundred kilos of Thunder Warrior landed between the brothers. One massive meaty paw grabbed Magnus by his long red mane and slammed him into the floor and the other caught the limp Eddard. The Impact had knocked the Fifteenth son out and the First slurred something that sounded like “I had it under control” before fading into unconsciousness.

Sighing to himself Arik hoisted the two juvenile Demi-gods over his shoulders and left the practice chamber. Up close he found the strange proportions of the Primarchs more amusing. He had been spat out of a vat fully grown and the other enhanced warriors followed a slightly altered maturing process, but not Primarchs. The Little bastards were physically and mentally children but lacked the weird proportions of them. They looked like miniature Astartes and he could understand why The Emperor had psychically bonded the Assai-Matrari with the tykes. Transhuman-dread inspiring children was no laughing matter.

Cracking his neck Arik left the training grounds with the two primarchs. The other duels lulled at the sight of him. Kota broke a clinch with Moric and clambered onto the cage wall and called out “Uncle Arik! You’re back! Uhh please don’t kill them…”

The old warrior simply chuckled and waved to his gene-kin. He deposited Eddard into the Mediace ward and explained the situation. The squadron of tutors and mentors started devising new lesson plans to help increase Eddard's emotional composure and resistance to Warp-craft. Arik avoided Meghann Winzar, Eddards Matrari rushing into the chamber. Even if Magnus had hurt her son she would not condone what he was about to do.

Taranis left the Primarch Quarters and headed for his own within the Palace, still with the unconscious Primarch slung over his shoulder. Along the way, he sent various messages to invested parties. A request to Luna and Malcador. Sitreps to the Custodes about what happened and an apologetic message to Lybara Rasut, it would not sate the Witch but maybe keep her from trying to kill him for what he was going to do to her adopted son.

Ten hours later Magnus Rubricar awoke with a start. His superhuman senses and mind kicked in instantly, allowing him to bypass the confused haze a baseline human would be in his place. Magnus did not recognize where he was, it appeared to be a dimly lit large storage chamber somewhere in the palace. He recognized the architecture and he seemed to be in a clearing between storage containers.

The next thing Magnus noticed was that he was fully armored. His War-gear had been placed on him and to either side of him were his two favored none warp powered weapons. The Zheng-Staff was modified for real combat and next to it was a Plasma Pistol that Magnus had learned to use in combination with pyrokinesis. The Primarch rose to his feet and realized the building-sized containers had been arranged in an odd shape, that of an arena.

A deep vicious voice boomed out of the shadows “Pick up your Weapons and prepare for combat!”

Almost subconsciously Magnus started to before he asked “Uncle Arik? Is that you? What is going on here?”

On top of the farthest container, Arik Taranis emerged into the dim light. He was dressed in his full battle-plate and wore a grim smile. “Magnus Rubricar you failed the Challenge of flesh and steel when you used your warp-powers to beat Eddard Fendragoon. You must be taught a lesson.”

Magnus simply scoffed at that “I did nothing wrong, my powers are my weapons and I used them to emerge victorious. Anyway, it was just a stupid training bout.”

The smile faded from the Old Warriors lips and he continued “You show your ignorance and egotism whelp. The Powers of the Warp are not yours, they have never been and never will. That is the first lesson your Father taught you correct?”

“Yes but I use them to make it fair against my bro-” Magnus was interrupted by a glare that could have stopped a charging army.

“There is no such thing as fair in War boy. Those challenges are meant to keep you and your brothers from relying too heavily on one skill. I watched you fight Eddard and saw how arrogant and self-righteous you were. Magnus you have great potential, you know that but your knowledge of it seems to be spoiling it child.” chided Arik.

The Ur-Primarch gestured to the weapons still at Magnus’s feet. “You refused to learn these lessons the easy way, and are headed down a dark path you cannot be permitted on. I have taken upon myself to teach you the hard way. Now pick up your damn weapon and prepare for combat.”

Snarling Magnus started to float up into the air while speaking “Arik you have no right to do this. When Malcador finds out you have kidnapped me! When my Father does! Oh you are in for-AGGGGHHHHH”

Just as he crested the top of the containers the ruins Arik and Ghota had spent a few hours painting with livestock blood flared to life. The Lighting Bearer was no sorcerer and barely psychic but he had picked many tricks during the Unification Wars. Magnus Plummeted to earth and angrily took up the weapons and started to snarl a curse, either literal or figurative.

Arik gestured around to countless marking covering seemingly every inch of the room in a pattern. “I would not do that if I were you. This entire chamber has been bound by hundreds of wards, rituals, and ruins over the years. Occansily when I am doing some dirty work for your Father I catch a live one and bring them back here to help keep me sharp. Xeno’s, Witches, and worse have all fought and bled and here. Not one has escaped and trust me kiddo a lot of them were more powerful than you currently are.”

Magnus’s power waned and he glared sourly up at Arik “So how do you intend to “teach” me to cripple myself? Come down here and pummel me into the ground while your wards keep me weak? Because I will tell you right now that I will just work to become more powerful so something like that can never happen again”

Dropping his great bulk down, Arik sat on the edge of the container and smacked on its side. “Oh, I know that wouldn’t work. I am not gonna kick your arse. She is gonna kill you”

A Blade pierced out of the container and carved a door open. Out Stepped a Power-armored woman. Her hair was done up in a topknot and in her hands, she carried a Power-Claymore as large as she was. The wards had obscured her presence and the minute she locked eyes with Magnus his stomach dropped. Two things stood out to the Primarch. First was the sheer spiteful disdain in her ice blue eyes, they bored into him and he felt the utter hate she felt for him.

The second and much more visceral was realizing what she was. The woman was a Pariah, a Null Soul and an extremely powerful one at that. Magnus had encountered Blanks and Pariahs multiple times throughout his training but none like this. Most were Shadows or voids in the warp. This woman was a Black Hole that gorged itself on the Warp. Reflexively he picked up the weapons and got into battle stance.

Arik chuckled “Good, you’re learning. This here is Natarasha Krole. The only Super-Pariah on Terra. She is also the sole survivor of a lineage of Witch Hunters that were wiped out by Ursh. Natarasha does not like foolhardy warp-wielders and has been given permission by me to execute you for unsanctioned malefic psykana.”

Magnus gaped at Arik: “You can’t be serious? I am a son of the Emperor himself. You will be both executed for this treason!”

The Thunder Warrior responded with a chuckle: “Oh I am deadly serious. Either you win and get your act together or you lose and the Emperor returns to a palace in mourning for you after that tragic accident. So get it together Magnus, are you really not capable of beating a mortal woman?”

Snarling bitterly Magnus summoned a corona of psychic energy around him. His witch sight peered into the ether and he felt the mass of wards around him press into his power. They appeared to be keeping him within the arena and prevented his escape or destruction of it. He was trapped in this arena. The only way was through the Mortal before him.

Smirking Magnus summoned Witchfyre into his palms and prepared to blast the Pariah into a paste. Part of his own personal training was learning to overcome the powers of Black-Souled abominations. For a being of his power, it was relatively easy. To deal with the weaker ones he could simply overwhelm their anti-soul, similar to how a flame that is hot enough will boil away water before it can extinguish it. The more powerful ones like the wretch before him required a more… subdued touch.

The Mage focused his own psychic aura into a tight vortex around him, designed to protect it from the Pariahs draining effects. The Witchfyre was modulated to produce the maximum amount of true-fire, the spark and fuel may be psychic but the blaze would be real enough to hurt even this damnable soul-sucker.

He let the firebolts fly and watched them move at supersonic speed towards the Women. She was moving the moment he let them fly, spinning like some absurd dancer she let the bolts graze right past her. The psychic energy within them was almost instantly devoured by the proximity to the Pariah. Magnus cursed as the twin flames guttered out, robbed of fuel. He could tell she was not strictly baseline human, some low-level gene or chem augments were at work. No mortal could move like that.

Magnus was right but had only brushed the edge of the full extent of her abilities. Krole had been enhanced for the specific purpose of surviving this first engagement with an enemy psyker. After that, her nature did the rest of the work. Krole charged the Emperor's son with her Claymore raised. A Feral howl escaped her lips. This misguided experiment by the Master of Mankind would be put down before it was allowed to taint the infant Imperium.

Natarasha Krole was one of the most powerful Pariahs to ever exist and had been trained in her Clans arts, the techniques she was about to unleash would become the cornerstones of two organizations the Imperium and galaxy at large would grow to fear. These organizations would be born of both Kroles linage and skill set, they were the Sisters of Silence and Clade Culuxus.

The energy the Emperors princeling had discharged was absorbed into her Null-soul. It was consumed and converted into power for her to wield. Despite being barely augmented past a Peak-Human she charged Magnus at speeds an Astartes would be proud to match. She saw a mix of shock and fear in his eyes. It was a good sight.

She was slow compared to his brothers but far faster than she had any right to be. Magnus blocked the Claymores strike before leaping into the air. He was outside the blades range and started to chant incantations to empower himself for the duel. The blade could not reach but her gauntlet mounted Flamers could.

Fire erupted forth obscuring Magnus’s Vision, his Telekine shield wailed in protest but held. It had done little other than startle him and stop his chanting. That was the goal. His transhuman senses heard the unmistakable growl of straining power armor just as Krole Lept into the air, she passed through the rapidly dying fireball as if it was not their. Her claymore came down on Magnus in a parody of what Eddard had tried. Except hers coursed with Pariah-Energy.

His shield did not buckle or cleave but was drained out of existence into the blade. Magnus had against his mentors and brothers advice forged his armor primarily to enhance his powers. Servo-motors were stripped to not interfere with incantations. Sturdier metals were passed over for ones with ritual significance. Auto-senses and shielding had been replaced with warp-imbued items. The Fifteenth Primarch began to realize the folly of this when the Pariah-Womens blade splintered his collarbone.

The Primarch screamed and felt his power bleed from him. The pain and Pariah-Aura forced him out of telekinetic flight. He crashed into the Arenas floor, the blade still in him. Krole rode his descent and used the shock of the impact to dislodge the sword. She was not stupid and backed out of his reach. Krole circled him like a hungry lioness.

Hundreds of spells and enchantments that had once empowered Magnus constantly faded and died. When she had wounded him the proximity had let her Aura drain and ruin years worth of effort. He staggered to his feet and grasped his wounded shoulder. It was healing, but not as fast as it should.

Arik answered his unspoken question “A primarch is a being of two realms, your powers draw from both. Guess what happens when you are disconnected from one of them?”

Magnus snarled and with a mental effort usually reserved for tossing tanks he pulled his staff into his hand from a few feet away. The instant he did she was on him again. She was faster and stronger than before, glutted on Magnus’s spells she now matched any Champion of the Legions. Yet Magnus was a Primarch who’s usual sparring partners were his brothers.

Slowly he started to match her rhythm. Steadily his defensive movements became more and more aggressive. Arik watched and started to smile, the brat might be learning after all. Sparks flew from their blades and arcs of energy cascaded off the power-fields. With a burst of superhuman muscle, Magnus pushed Krole back and took his opportunity.

Taranis swore as he realized what Magnus was doing. Instead of pressing his advantage he had fallen back and was mustering his gifts. The Primarch called out “I will not be limited! This duel is pointless and I will prove to you both the superiority of my craft!” Arik swore again when he realized the sheer amount of Energy Magnus was mustering. A Blank could be defeated by overloading their distorted connection to the Warp. The brat assumed it was the same with Pariahs, just scaled up. It was anything but.

A Beam of screaming-souls was let loose from the Primarchs hands, the Energy released could have turned a Small Titan into a haunted-puddle of molten metal. Natarasha Krole faced it head-on. She absorbed all she could and deflected and dispersed what she couldn't. She could feel her armor start to melt and morph around her as the impossible energy sought to devour her whole. Clenching her jaw hard enough to crack teeth she stood firm and focused. No witch no matter how powerful could stand against her. The Last of the Mute-Crow Clan was the product of generations of experimentation and eugenics. She would survive this and start her family anew.

Arik scrambled to activate a dozen wards, each not capable of stopping a Greater Neverborn but sure as hades inconvenience them as he had learned from experience. They seemed to barely affect the geyser of power erupting from the Primarch. It seemed barely weaker but steadily becoming more diffuse, like a stream of water being split by an object in its path. Arik realized the metaphor was more apt than he thought.

Krole was pushing into the beam and almost reached the Primarch. His eyes widened in shock as she finally reached the Primarch. He did not see the blow but knew it must have connected when the energy stopped. The utterly spent Primarch stumbled back, a large gash on his chest starting to ooze blood. His eyes suddenly unfocused and the Fifteenth son collapsed. Arik rushed over and found what was left of Krole. Every visible inch of skin was burnt, her blade was a smoking piece of slag and the hand that had pressed into the beam was a skeletal stump.

Cursing more thoroughly now Arik wondered how many pieces he would end up in if he had really just killed a Primarch and one of Malcadors proteges. He glanced over at the Primarch and we relieved to see the wound was shallow enough for his augmented blood to clot over.

Krole was a different story, she was still technically alive but looked like she had just fallen from orbit. Her charred mouth sputtered open and she inhaled a raspy breath. As she inhaled burned flesh started to slough off and muscles regrew. Arik had seen many things but the sight of this woman being knit back together was one of the stranger ones. It was not a perpetual rebirth or that of a tumor-beast, this was like the injuries were being undone.

After a minute or so a naked and twitching Krole lay before him. Her left arm still bore burn-scars of where she had blocked the beam, and Arik correctly suspected those would never heal. She then sat up and let out a scream that lasted far longer than it had any right to. It finally ended and she started to shakily get to her feet.

Shivering from exhaustion she spoke: “That...that was beyond the possible. I can regenerate injuries by feeding off warp-power but that… I was being destroyed as fast as I was rebuilt.”

Krole stumbled and Arik caught her. The stunned women vomited onto the floor and then asked: “What now?”

Smiling grimly Arik helped her walk as they exited the Arena “I get some better wards and we keep trying to knock sense into the brat.”

Krole snarled at that: “Would be better to let me kill him and be done with it.”

“Doubtful, if my hypothesis is correct that tyke is far more important to the Emperor than we could ever imagine”

Arik patched the unconscious Primarch and shocked Pariah up and prepared to try again the next day. It ended less disastrously but still with Magnus getting cocky and relying on his powers. This processes repeated itself for nearly a month. Each day the Primarch would awake, eat, and then get pummeled by the Pariah. Each day though he seemed to rely less on his Psychic nature. Yet still, the lesson was not fully getting through.

Eventually, Arik started bringing in other Witch Hunters, these mortals had a much rougher go of it but most still managed to challenge Magnus. Arik found himself honestly disappointed many times. These were clever mortals with a few augments here and there. Literally beneath a Primarchs notice but Magnus was struggling.

It eventually came to a head three months into the experiment. When after the 75th time Krole had beaten him the Primarch let out a dejected howl and slumped to his knees. Finally, his hubris was broken. Putting his hands up in defeat the Primarch spat out the words “I give up. You have beaten it into me. My powers may be great but are fallible”

Arik grinned, the Mage had been humbled at last. It was the oldest trick in the Drill Instructor book, break a recruit down utterly and build him up better than he ever could be before. For a Primarch it had taken an absurd amount of effort, a cargo-hauler of supplies to bribe the Lunar Pariah Program, and a large number of powerful Psychic defenses to protect him from Magnus’s Matrai. Yet it had been done. Now all that remained was rebuilding him into what he was meant to be.


	8. Tales from Beyond the Palace (ch 14 pt 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot into the horrors awaiting mankind in the galaxy.

**Part III Rangda Rising**  
  
 _Date- Year 4781 of the Age of Nightmares (local calendar)_  
  
 _Location- Minish: Industrial age human world in the Halo Stars._  
  
The Things first noise was both its birth-cry and its chrysalis death scream. The Host-Beasts final moments of despair and disgust flickered through Its mind as it fully awoke. The Thing had lived for months under the host-beasts skin, feeding on nerve cells and steadily influencing it. During that time it had been non-sentient, just a cluster of Viral-Nerves following pre-weaved orders.  
  
These orders had plucked at the Host-Beasts minds, at first simple intrusive thoughts that steadily grew into obsessions, then actions. It started simple, letting a drop of infected oxygen-carrier fall into the meal it was preparing for its brood. This quickly evolved and magnified as the Things influence increased. Each action worked to spread the Things kindred across the Host-Beasts world.  
  
A collection of Host-Beasts snuck into an H20 plant and dumped chunks of infected offal into the supply. Dissident organizations were joined or formed. Livestock was infected and sacrificed to spread the Things fellows to millions more. After months of this, the signal came. A note sung through the warp, it struck the infant-things across the World and drove them into a frenzy. The time for subtlety was over. Hosts-Beasts rampaged across the world, crippling and infecting it as the Things inside them devoured what was left of their nervous system.  
  
After a month of this anarchy, the first generations of infected were fully consumed and the Things inside them awoke to the world just as the seeders arrived. This particular Thing took its first few moments to examine its Flesh. It was a binary oxygen processor, well-formed thanks to physical labor and good nutrients. It was a good host that would serve the Thing well.  
  
Next, it glanced around its surroundings. It stood within a Crater that had once been a Civilization Center. Broken structures and ruined infrastructure dotted the landscape. Around it was millions of Host-Beasts. Some like it were fully awakened and examining the world. Others were still being consumed and stood in mute agony as their neurons were devoured bit by bit.  
  
The last piece of the surroundings to register was by far the largest and most important. A great fleshy spire stuck out of the Craters center. It reached into the cloud banks and the Thing noticed vents near the top pouring atmosphere adapted virons into the world's water cycle. On some instinctive level, The Thing knew the spire was buried into the planet as far below as it rose into the sky, and that it tainted the soil and aquifer as well.  
  
The silence was broken by a song, a horrific melody that blasted from vehicle sized vocal structures that dotted the spire. It was interwoven with Psychic signals that combined to touch the Things flesh and soul. To its Host-Beast the Psi-Noise would have been a thing of mind-shattering insanity, that would have caused it to gouge its flesh and tear its throat apart screaming. To the Thing, it was the most utterly beautiful thing it had ever experienced and would ever experience.  
  
As one the millions of infected marched towards the Siren Song. The Song was a screaming-whisper on its mind, a soft enchanting rhythm that rewrote Viral-Clusters and started to convey a great saga. The Thing could not understand the tale, no matter how hard it tried it could not fully grasp the Psychic Epic being written into the minds and souls of those who were meant to hear it.  
  
Only two things made it through the cacophony and into the Things mind. First was a command. Enter the Conqueror Worm. The Things still developing neural-equivalent correctly deduced the spire was this Conquering Worm. As it got closer the point of entry also became obvious. Building-sized mooring spikes stabbed out of it into the dirt. They were colossal bone-structures that supported the Worm. Each was hollow and fluted, allowing access points for the newborns to climb into and enter the Worm.  
  
The second decipherable bit was less practically important but reality shaking to the newborn thing. It was an identity, what it was and why it was. The thing was a thing no longer. It was a Rangdan, and it had been born to claim its genesis-right.  
  
The Rangdan along with its millions of siblings clambered into the spike and ascended the ghoulish stairway that comprised the innards of it. Hundreds of thousands of young Rangdans clambered up the spike. Using processes as instinctual to it as flight is to an avian The Rangdan started modifying its host.  
  
No longer hampered by the need for subtlety The Rangdans Virons spread rapidly through the host-beast. Muscle cells were contaminated and twisted on the molecular level to reach states stronger and more efficient than ever originally possible. Energy careful eased from the inverted tapestry fueled hyper-mitosis and the natural mutagenic effect of that realm was weaponized.  
  
Mutations and Cancers were harvested to provide more material. Hair shrunk into the scalp and prepared to be repurposed. Calluses appeared on flesh and were cultivated and sculpted into dermal armor. Each few-millimeter sized cluster of Rangdan Pseudo-Nerves acted independently of each other and drew from the inverted tapestry the small amount of matter and energy their meta-souls could.  
  
The Rangdan was careful to not synchronize them or draw too much in order to prevent the things that dwelt in that realm from noticing it. Not all of his kin followed that instinct and sought to push beyond, to reach greater heights. A sound that was a mix of tearing flesh, screaming and an electrical hum occansily reverberated through the spine as one of the foolish ones met their fate. One of these failed erupted a dozen meters behind the Rangdan into a mutating hulk of twisted broken flesh that muled for death.  
  
A twinge of annoyance filled the Rangdans mind, he was too far away to enjoy the bounty of flesh provided by the failure. It's closer siblings would feed well upon it. A Rangdan instinctively knew the more organic matter one possessed the more powerful you are. No matter how skilled a crafter is they are still limited by the amount of resources they have to work with.  
  
Eventually, after several hours The Rangdan reached his destination. The Top of Spine where it met the Conqueror Worm. A massive aperture formed of some sort of gel stood before them. The stream of Rangdans slowly but surely entered the gel. The instant they did an unseen current whisked them away to parts unknown. Finally, it came The Rangdans turn. It expected some sort of resistance but instead, it was like walking into a pool of warm water.  
  
Trusting the instinctual pulses that had guided it true so far the Rangdan entered it fully and took a deep breath of the fluid. The semi-solid liquid poured down the Rangdans throat and into its respiratory and digestive system. It was nutrient and oxygen-rich and seemed to independently recycle waste to keep the Rangdan alive and healthy. Giving itself over to the current the Rangdan felt itself pulled along a great capillary-like structure to parts unknown.  
  
The influx of nutrients and sense of safety allowed the Rangdan to allow itself to truly start rebuilding its flesh as it traveled. New ideas and instincts flooded the Rangdan and it began to consume and rebuild the Host-Beasts flesh into something far greater. After months of riding the current, the Rangdan no longer resembled its host beast in any way.  
  
Its sensory organs were improved and expanded upon. Viral-Nerve Clusters were expanded and advanced to increase intellect and memory. Bones reknit into more efficient shapes. The Rangdan’s form had been crafted into something far better than what evolution had forged the Host-beast into. Once it felt its body was at the peak efficiency available to it the Rangdan let out a Psycho-Chemical signal.  
  
The current shifted and the Rangdan has pulled away from the Maturation-veins. The song increased in volume in clarity as it flowed into a separate chamber. About a hundred other Rangdans drifted through the Cyst-Chamber. They resembled The Rangdan. Similar adaptations and structures, it knew these beings were its kin. Each born of the same Caste-Virus for the same purpose.  
  
Drifting towards the Chambers center The Rangdan met its guide and the source of the song. It was at least three times its mass and most of that matter was concentrated in its massive cranium. Its skull was a titanic thing, housing millions of nerve-clusters. Its body seemed like an emaciated four upperlimbed version of the Rangdans own. It possessed dozens of light-sensing orbs and the majority locked onto the newcomer.  
  
A Psychic voice echoed in The Rangdans mind: “Greetings Newborn. I am Volg-Goid-Haskysh’ura. Storyweaver of the Clan Goid, subject to the Volg House-Clan. You are a newborn of the Flesh-weaver Caste and Clan Akhon. Also subject to Volg House-Clan. My duty is to show the great history of Rangda to you and your kin.”  
  
With that, a psychic tendril reached out and let the Young Rangdan decipher the song. It was the story of its people, the story of a faith and civilization older than any other still living. The Song/Saga started like so many of its kind across the galaxy “In the Beginning”  
  
The Rangdan did not know how much of it was words and how much memories. It could only float in the chamber like it's kin experiencing the same as the Psychic song washed over them. “In the beginning there was nothing. The universe was a great cold empty void where Stars lived and died along and untouched for eons. Until it came!”  
  
A sense of joy and peace overcame the young one as its vision of the ancient void was changed by a Presence. “The Weaver of Strands entered the galaxy like it had done so many others. It found the void lacking and sought to create the ultimate art to fill it. Each galaxy became a beautiful tapestry of life and ours was destined to be the greatest!”  
  
Dead worlds slowly turned green as nebulous clouds of energy traveled the galaxy, seeding and preparing to be gardened. “Life sprang into being across the universe and eventually sentients developed. Two species, in particular, were selected to serve the Weaver of Strands. One too gathers material for the tapestry being woven. Another to assist in the weaving.  
  
“We the children of Rangda were chosen to travel the galaxy gathering strands of life to be used. The other were the Slaathion, they helped weave life into being and guide it to its appropriate place in the tapestry. For eons, the twin races served the Weaver and all was well.”  
  
Darkness started to seep into the vision, a hungering mass of chitin and teeth crawled between the stars and sought to slake its never-ending thirst. It was greater and more horrific than anything the Rangdan could ever imagine. “Then the Hungering Entropy came. It sought to unravel and feast upon the galaxy like it had so many others. Not wanting to lose yet another creation to its ancient enemy the Weaver of Strands left the Galaxy in its favored two’s care while it battled the Entropy.”  
  
“For millennia we did our duty and cared for the growing Galaxy. Pruning unwanted species and shaping life into our creator's vision. The Weaver and the Entropy were evenly matched. The thing from between the stars could not be driven away nor consume the greatest artist. This stasis lasted an age before the Slaathion betrayed everything they stood for. Their great sages sought new weapons to battle the Entropy but discovered only folly.”  
  
The Vision shifted to a conclave of ancient Reptilians atop strange pyramid-temples reaching out with their minds into an unknown domain. “They were the first to touch the Inverted Tapestry. A domain where strands of life both real and imagined dwelled. Reaching farther and farther into this impossible realm they and drank from the Well of Eternity. In that terrible moment, the Slaathion broke their oaths and betrayed us and their creator.”  
  
“In their hubris, they declared the Weaver of Strands a false god and their sacred duties to guide and cull life as our Creator saw fit was wrong. Harnessing the powers of the Inverted Tapestry they battled us in a horrible rebellion. We fought with every ounce of our strength but it was not enough to overcome those ancients and the false-strands they empowered themselves with.”  
  
A new sight filled the Rangdans mind. Weapons of flesh and bone battled against armies of witch-forms across burning worlds. “On our sacred world of Old Rangda our Eldest of Elders were forced to kneel and we were banished to the farthest reaches of the galaxy as punishment for refusing to betray our oaths. The Great Worm-Engine gifted to us by the Weaver was broken into three and our ancient Crown-Worlds were wiped clean of life.”  
  
“For countless eons we watched our betrayers rule the galaxy and shape it in ways abhorrent to the Weavers wishes. The greatest of its art was undone and corrupted. Eventually, we discovered the truth of why the Slaathion had banished to the far reaches. Their visions into the Inverted Strands had told them of the greatest threat to the galaxy, and the ultimate evidence of our failure.”  
  
The distant tendrils of hungering darkness poured from the Void towards the galaxy. “The Weaver of Strands had turned its back on us, the destruction of its work and theft of its tools had caused it to leave us. Now the Hungering Entropy sought to feed. It may have been weakened and scattered into countless tendrils by our benefactor's efforts but it still sought to feed.”  
  
“Despair set in among our people, entire cities ended themselves, for oblivion was better than knowing we had been abandoned utterly. At our darkest moment, our greatest hero emerged. The Sage Nyarl was born of a Slaathion host-beast and had stolen their powers. Nyarl peered into the Inverted Strands and discovered the Truth.”  
  
“The Conductor of Strands could forgive us! We could be taken back into our Master's fold if we completed the work. The Inverted Strands were another part of the Weaver's work. The reverse side of the great tapestry of life and by misusing its power the Slaathion threatened to unravel it and all life. Only by collecting and weaving together every thread could the tapestry be completed. Every strand of gene-code must be compiled, every soul unified under us.”  
  
Next, in the vision, the dark tendrils were attacked by a glowing sorcerer-sage at the head of Rangdan armies welding mythological flesh-forms. “Unified under Nyarl’s teaching we battled the Hungering Entropy like our creator and turned its own flesh into fodder for our growing race! Pale shadows of the original Great Worm Engine allowed us to burrow through the Inverted Tapestry and find new worlds.”  
  
“With each tendril consumed, we grew in power. The Great Volaticus Stream formed from Nyarls own fluids remembered every monster we consumed and added its power to our own. For eons, this war inherited from our creator continued. It only ended when reality ripped open within the greatest Elder-Citadel-House of Rangda-in-Exile. The Slaathion had returned.”  
  
Pulled from the war against Void-born horrors the Rangdan watched Old-Sages upon hovering palanquins exit a hole in space into the heart of their growing Empire. “They came bearing gifts of Genes never imagined and host beasts engineered perfectly for us. At first, we suspected trickery but the offer of peace was genuine. They offered an end to our exile in exchange for assistance against the greatest foe.”  
  
“In the millions of solar orbits since our banishment, the Slaathion had spread life throughout the galaxy and twisted races into equals of them. Our humble skill in weaving the Inverted Strands was nothing compared to the betrayer's dominance of it. They had teased the Weavers secrets from the shattered Worm Engine and fused them with their new powers to create an ever-growing labyrinth located both in the Material and Immaterial.”  
  
“Yet for all these abominations and unholy powers, they had found a foe beyond them. Another aspect of the Hungering Entropy had been found by a weak-willed race of ghouls. Not cloaked in shadow and flesh but metal and stolen star-light. We saw the threat and offered our help to purge this evil from the galaxy.”  
  
“Millions of years of exile had not taught us a simple lesson. Never trust a betrayer. We assumed they wanted our War-Forms and numbers to fight this conflict. How very wrong we were. The things we met were not Slaathion but their children are known as the Slaani. For the Slaathion along with their most prized creations had ascended past the limits of flesh and blood into pure Energy. They had become living conduits into the inverted realms and a prized meal for the Star-Eaters.”  
  
“These broken beings sought not flesh to fight their wars, they had plenty in the haughty Crystal-Children or Spore-born Beasts. What they sought was our very Inverted-threads. To fight false-gods forged of metal they had created false-gods formed of interwoven inverted-threads. Great abominations had been formed all ready to fight this war. The Eternal-Winged Flame, The Twin Headed War, Serpents made of Starlight, And countless others. Now they bound our souls together as one into a horrific thing, and thus the False-Weaver was born”  
  
Billions of Rangdans had their Souls/Inverted Threads bound together into a colossal corpulent mass of rotting flesh. “This abomination was the first of its kind, not born of a single aspect of a species but an aspect of all species. We were the anchor point for it, considered disposable if it failed.”  
  
“For millions of cycles False-Gods battled with armies forged/born solely to kill their foes. Just as we feared the once peaceful if twisted Inverted Tapestry was tainted and started to unravel. False-Gods became True-Monsters and reality itself started to buckle from the horrors of the First War. The Material was collapsing under the strain of the Star-Eaters power and the Immaterial under the insanity of eternal-war along with the growing pantheon of madness.”  
  
“In a final desperate attempt to save both sides of the tapestry the Slaathion decided to unleash the greatest and worst weapon ever devised by them. Before it was unleashed millions of those “chosen” by them were herded into the Labyrinth and shut away. The Great Ancients including our Lineage-Lord Volg were rewarded by the betrayers and sealed away also while the weapon was unleashed.”  
  
“The Volaticus Stream’s memories do not contain the truth of what happened. The Last message from the Slaathion simply said: “To save all life we must first Enslave It.” Time passes wrong within the Labyrinth so we know not how long we were sealed away. Eventually, it's great crystal gates opened and we entered a galaxy much changed. The Star-Eaters and their metal-bone slaves were gone and all sentient life had been wiped from the galaxy, save for the last few Slaathion who were utterly broken by what had occurred.”  
  
“The insane survivors guided us back to our home worlds, where nothing remained except for ruins. From their they abandoned us. Some say they still seek to Change the Ways of the Galaxy, others whisper they Linger, a few say they created a world that would be, while the mad insist something stole their knowledge and power away to light a beacon of sanity.”  
  
“It took little time for the Crystal-Children to become prouder and crueler than their creators. Once again we were banished to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to guide against tendrils of hungering flesh that never came. Many times we sought to reclaim our place as master of the galaxy and begin the Great Weaving of all life in the galaxy together. Each Time the False-Gods and their legions of worshiping Crystal-Witches struck us down.”  
  
“So another age of exile began as the Inverted Tapestry slowly started to unravel again. Without the betrayer's guiding the weaving the galaxy had died to achieve started to break down as new unruly host-beasts to-be stained the fabric of unreality. Soon ancient things that slumbered since the end of the First War started to awaken. We knew once the Broken-Flesh King awoke the False-Weaver would soon stir.”  
  
“To prevent falling under the abominations sway we scoured our souls and changed the very nature of The Rangda. Much was lost and will ever be but we were safe from it. Safe from the Stains upon the inverted tapestry and ignored by the bastard-heirs to usurpers we waited. Flesh-Beasts crafted to watch and rot tended the galaxy for us in our exile. The Worms that Walk would tell us when fate had been woven for us.”  
  
“It took an age but we had waited longer for less. The folly of the Crystal-Children violated the Materium as they birthed their youngest god anew. Empire both young and old crumbled as the Inverted Tapestry was shredded apart by the Storm of Chaos. The time was right the galaxy rots around us and we can arise from its corpse and take it back for our Master! The Time has come for Rangda to Rise!”  
  
“Yet we are not alone in such ambitions. The Four reborn are greater and more terrible than ever before. They seek to make the Galaxy Burn in their name. Newborn and reborn Empires seek to claim our place. Something great and terrible burns through the warp. We shall strike them all down and weave them mind, body, and thread into our Tapestry. None can stand against The Rangdan Empire!”  
  
With that, the visions ended. The Rangdan did not know how long it had been in the chamber, the occupants had changed, but it now knew its purpose. History filled its mind and it left the chamber and rode the current to the destination it was meant for. The Rangdan entered a great Flesh-Womb. Where Millions of gestation chambers were tended to by similar-looking kin.  
  
Each grew a Flesh-Form of varying purpose to the Rangda species. It was the Young Rangdans duty to craft these tools. Slowly it moved through the fluid towards the great neural-structure in the center of the chamber. The Rangdan knew what it was, a connection to The Volaticus Stream. A nexus where organically encoded copies of every life-thread or flesh structure encountered by the Rangdan Empire was stored.  
  
With tentative digits, it reached out to it and felt its mind and inverted-thread link with the great flesh-form. In gene-code it asked it a simple question “Name?”  
  
Without hesitation, the Rangdan replied with the title it knew belonged to it since the end of the song/saga. “I am Volg-Akhon-Urath. Newborn Fleshcrafter of House-Clan Volg, and servant of Rangda Rising”  
  
Electrical pulses exchanged between the Stream and Urath and after a moment knowledge both fresh and ancient entered the newborn's mind and it got to work crafting weapons of war to help consume the next world and complete the Great Weaving.  
  
Months later once the population of Minish was fully consumed and its biosphere fully tainted the Conquering Worms titanic maw would open wide and bite a hole into the Warp. Like a parasite crawling into an open wound, the Hive sized Worm wriggled into the Warp and onto the next world ready to add itself to the glory of Rangda Rising.

* * *

**Part IV Lunar Whisper**

_Location: The Forgotten Laboratories of Luna._

_Date: Seven months after the Emperor left Terra._

Sagitari 17 was a Slave, his fate was not his own to decide. It had been decided for him decades before his birth. Existence was servitude under the most dangerous tyrant humanity had ever faced. Despots, totalitarians, and conquerors were common throughout human history but the one that had enslaved Sagitari 17’s people and world was unique in that his tyranny was eternal.

The Immortal Emperor of Mankind was truly that and if his ambition was not stopped humanity would suffer under that abominations yoke for eternity. Sagitari had been raised hearing the tales of the Emperor's conquest of his home. How the noble Helix-Beasts and Cyber-Knights had been crushed by the rampaging Thunder Legions.

The Gene-Cults of Luna had exchanged one tyrant for another. The insane era of Cardinal Tang may have ended but the Selenar had their faith taken from them, their secrets looted and their skills press-ganged into creating instruments of galactic domination.

Some more liberal Selenar Matriarchs had eventually led their sects into the Emperor's enslavement, viewing him as the perfect embodiment of humanities genetic potential and the monsters he sought to grow the truest incarnates of humanities genetic archetypes. They were fools.

One had only to watch the Flesh-Harvests of the Astartes to know what a monster the Emperor was. Sagitari 17 was a particularly talented Gene-wright and forced to work on the Astartes Legions. He had witnessed thousands of young boys freshly stolen from their homes after testing positive for Astartes compatibility.

They were herded into the Gene-Seed processing centers like human livestock. The range of attitudes, origin, and attributes was remarkable. Scions of noble houses raised their head-height, proud of their selection. Juvenile monsters plucked from the worst hives strained against restraints and watched the shock-pole armed guards for any weakness.

Of all of them, Sagitari 17 pitied the Chthonians, plucked from their homeworld the gang-brats knew nothing of the fate awaiting them and feared the worse. Like cornered animals, the children of tunnel gangs and ruin-tribes gathered together and plotted escape futility.

Sagitari had always known he was a slave, his sect had sought to stand against The Emperor even after the First Pacification. Despite their beliefs and radical tendencies, they had played the loyal pet to the tyrant. The Matriarchs were divided on when and how to strike but all agreed now they must serve to survive. So despite knowing the truth his sibling-sects willing blinded themselves to Sagitari 17 had been a loyal and protective servant of the Imperium until the dreams started.

At first, they were faint things, barely remembered whispers when he awoke from a hibernation cycle soaked in a cold sweat. Yet steadily once the news of the Emperor's departure reached Luna they increased. By the end of the first month, he could fully remember the nightmarish hellscapes shown to him.

A Corpse Kingdom where thousands were fed to the Immortal Tyrant to sustain him. Where the sons he had grown within Luna itself rampaged across the stars, eternally seeking war and conquest. Just as their biological programming demanded. This dream, no vision of events that could be showed the eternity of the cruelest, bloodiest regime in human history that he was helping build.

By the end of the second month, the dreams were replaced with new visions. Of ancient patrons returning to guide humanity once again. Four Gods for the Moons Four Phases. They whispered secrets and hidden truths to him day and night. Knowledge forbidden by the Tyrant and lost to time filled his mind. Following the whispers, deep into ancient chambers in Lunar bedrock, he met others like him.

They were chosen, sacred, selected from the greatest Genetic-Lineages that kept to the old ways. Those who recognized the Imperial Truth as a lie and compliance as slavery. Together they combined occult practices half-remembered by their elders and things pulled from their dreams. Hidden far from the Eyes of the Emperor and as close to the source of the whispers as possible the rituals started.

Communing with the Four Patrons they reached the Dark-Side of the Reality and were told impossible truths. How the aspects of humanity worshiped by the Cults were just shards of the four-faced whole. Warrior, Farmer, Performer, Learner: The four faces of humanity. The Emperor's tyranny threatened even them. The Warlord planned to devour the aspects and remake humanity in his horrid image.

To achieve this insidious goal Twenty Aspects of Humanity were stolen from the Four and imprisoned in Flesh crafted using the finest of both Terran and Lunar lore. The Primarchs were not the Emperor's children, they were stolen from the four. Sagitaris 17 had wept tears of blood when he saw/felt/smelled/touched/remembered the Tyrants kidnapping of the twenty on the World Named Sacrifice.

The Four wanted to do what they had always done, guide humanity to greater heights in hopes they would reach the pantheon and truly embody the aspects. In order to do this, they needed to save their children stolen by the Emperor. This most blessed task was meant for Sagitari 17 and his fellow Chosen kin.

By the end of the third-month plans were being hatched. Family, sect members, and other open minds had the truth shown to them. The small coven grew with each convert and those unwilling to see the light where dealt with. Soon the hidden chambers that once held a dozen blessed Selenarians now was packed with hundreds of zealots eager to serve the Four Aspects of Humanity.

Unifying the wills of the worshipers and the power of unwilling sacrifices the Realm of Aspects were touched and knowledge poured forth. Knowledge of how to save the Stolen Children and their children born of mutated youths. The Primarchs may be beyond their reach but the Astartes were not.

The first step in this plan was to reach the place where it had all began. The Place of the Primarchs creation. In that deep forgotten and abandoned laboratory, a crack in time could be opened up. It would take months of preparation and manipulation to reach the sacred source of the whispers.

Across Luna, the whispers had spoken to other Elect like Sagitari 17 and formed cults much like his own. Together they found each other and formed the Creed of the Four Phases. By the end of the sixth month, hundreds of thousands across Luna were illuminated and ready to save humanity from eternal slavery. Entire Sects and Lab-Habs were indoctrinated. With each new addition, the power of the Creed grew and the secret buried below became just that closer.

Security was swapped with loyal members, technicians whispered prayers to the four as they installed backdoors both physical and electronic into the Forbidden Labs near Luna’s north pole. They had been abandoned abruptly a decade or two ago, with all equipment dismantled and installed within the growing Palace.

As such little remained worth defending and it was easy enough to convince the Adepts in charge of Luna that security was better needed elsewhere to deal with the threats posed by numerous cult activities and escaped specimen. The specimen had been released for this purpose and the cults were rival organizations that existed in the shadows while not following the four.

By the seventh month Sagitari, his fellow Elect and a squad of specially grown Gene-Warriors had snuck deep into the Lunar Fortress. The plan was working perfectly. Sagitari 17 prayed silent thankful prayers to the Four the entire journey. Sneaking through maintenance shafts, and side passages they crept deeper and deeper into the hidden laboratory where twenty stolen children were given flesh.

Sagitari 17 had not been born with a particularly powerful connection to the Immaterium but his contact with the Aspects had strengthened the connection. Even so, he on some level though even a psychic blunt would be able to feel what was below him. The whispers were growing in intensity but they were not the only thing echoing through the realm of aspects.

It was a choir, a faint haunting choir of voices singing in unison. With each descended kilometer the choir increased in volume and clarity. Until finally as they reached the inner labs the horrible truth could be discerned. The choir was composed of thousands of screams.

After multiple days of crawling through the lab's bowls, they had made it to the holy of holies. Where the Four had attempted and failed to rescue their children. The screaming and whispers continued to increase with every step as the devout journeyed into the central chamber.

At the end of a dark ghostly hallway stood a great gate. Something in a language Sagitari could not read was carved into it. The inscription was circled by twenty haloed numerals and the psychic signals had reached migraine inducing heights. They had arrived.

Stolen Melta Charges were attached as Security Backdoors were activated. Confident that no alarms would be triggered the Gates' joints were burned away. Slowly, groaning like an injured giant the gate came crashing down. Immediately the psychic pressure intensified, wards and incantations placed both before and after the Primarchs removal were broken.

The group could just as much feel as see what lay at the chambers far end. Past twenty empty plinths where gestation capsules once stood and empty grooves where esoteric machinery had sat was a tear. A Tear in time and space taller than any man and a dozen centimeters wide at its maximum.

Constant never ending truths and secrets poured from the rip in a psychic stream that engulfed the group. Sagitari 17 could see the crack straining to open up wider and he felt a subconscious shiver run up his spine when he saw what prevented the Four-Aspects Gate from opening. Chains/Thread/Spells woven of fire and a sacrificed choir lashed the portal shut.

Like a twisted parody of a suture, the Emperor's power had kept the gate close, but the power of the Four was greater than the tyrants. The chains were stretched taut and the full power of the Pantheon pushed them to their absolute limits. All it would take was one last push to break the seal on salvation open.

The rituals and technological secrets possessed by the Creed of the Four Phases had been poured into the creation of two artifacts crucial in their plans. The first, which Sagitari carefully removed from his pack and unwrapped from its Lowa-Silk dressing was a knife.

Its blade was formed from volcanic glass that seemed to drink light in instead of reflecting like it should. The handle was golden and decorated with precious gems. Great expense had gone into buying this artifact from a wealthy Hy Brasil Antiquities dealer. The blade was one of the few items on Terra traceable to an impossible ancient civilization.

Three things were known about this near-mythical civilization. Human sacrifice was a central focus of its religion, blades like the one in Sagitari’s grip were used in those rituals. The civilization collapsed when another empire crushed it through Guns, Germs, Steel, and Cruelty.

The psychic resonance of this blade that had claimed hundreds of thousands of sacrificial victims millennia ago was reborn with new sacrifices in the Creeds name. Enemies and dissenters were fed to the knife in order to grant it the myth-symbolism it needed to break the seal.

Whispered prayers were chanted as Sagitari approached the gate. He could feel the weight of destiny on him and if had been not genetically altered not too he would have been soaked in nervous sweat. Holding the Sacred Blade in hands made steady by years of surgical practice he raised it up and prepared to cut the Emperor's shackles. The truth had been shown to him countless times, a final push upon the binds and he would finally be free!

Just as he was a meter away from the gate the distinct hiss of a Stasis-Chamber depressurizing filled the dark room. The Creeds Elect froze in shock. For all their planning and influence both supernatural and otherwise one contingency had escaped them. The one left by the Emperor and his right hand.

Culuxus Eta’s eyes snapped open as his stasis chamber opened. The proto-Assassin knew he would only awaken if his tomb was disturbed. The Grand Master had left him hidden away in this secret chamber to protect it, now the time had come to fulfill his duty.

Soul-Crushing dread filled the Elects souls, none of them had ever encountered anything remotely like what had just sprung from a stasis chamber hidden in the room's wall. All they knew was it felt utterly horribly wrong and it was killing them.

Sagitari 17 could only watch in mute horror as the black-clad thing ripped his bodyguards apart. Centuries of Lunar Gene-Lore did nothing to help the Warriors as their very souls were ripped from their bodies by the Skull-headed abomination.

Calypsis-2, a fellow elect who showed talent in the aspect of the Warp-Weaver summoned Lighting to strike the monster down. It fizzled to nothing as the thing tore her heart out while feasting on her soul. Calypsis-2’s last gurgled words were “Complete the Ritu-”

Pulling himself out his stupor Sagitari turned to the gate, he felt like his movements were in slow motion as the unleashed monster charged him. The remaining elect could only throw themselves into its path to buy him time.

Sagitari did not see the thing snap the last bodyguard's neck, nor it feast on a curse or its caster. He could only stare into the abyss as the Obsidian Blade fulfilled its destiny and cut the seal. The Chamber was painfully silent for a moment as both psychic whispers and screams stopped. Then the Tyrants seal exploded in a shower of molten ectoplasm.

Eta pushed his gene-strengthened body to its limits as he fought to reach the rip. For the rest of his short existence, he would curse his failure. The Seal was broken and while he did not know it Eta for once had reason to be thankful for his pariah nature. For his mind did not echo with the Laughter of Thirsting Gods that poured from the Rip.

For a split second, Sagitari wondered if he had made a terrible mistake as the insane raucous laughter echoed through the chamber. The split second doubt was cast aside as he started into the widening Crack in reality. What he saw was beautiful and terrible beyond words. The full glory/horror of the warp was laid out before him.

Enchantments and genetic failsafes protected him from the madness that would have claimed any unprotected mortal. Yet his mind almost collapsed when he saw the face looking back at him through the now-portal. A twisted black Daemonic visage grinned at him. It was a face a thousand cultures had given to their Archfiends. The Crown Prince of Damnation let a cruel chuckle escape between his fangs before he reached out into the Materium.

The last thing First Generation Culuxus Operative Eta saw was a gigantic clawed hand reach out of the Crack. His nature let him see the true form of the Monster. The armor and flesh of countless hosts were soldered together into a classical supernatural shape that oozed black Warp-Vapor.

It moved at literally inhuman speeds and grabbed the Assassins head. Even with the oversized helm it barely filled the things, palm. Eta screamed in pain as it slowly crushed him, desperately the Pariah absorbed entire Lesser Neverborn worth of energy off the monster with no effect. In his last painfilled moments Eta realized his power to siphon warp-power was simply not enough. He was just a mortal and could never hope to stand against the Firstborn of the Warp.

The Fear and dread inspired by the Skull-headed thing disappeared when its head was reduced to a thin paste in the new monster's claws. The sheer panic the thing inspired more than replaced it. The Monster almost lazily pulled itself fully out of the portal. It crouched down to fit in the six-meter tall chamber. Great black wings stretched and retracted as its horned head swung around the chamber observing the three surviving Elect.

In a voice both physical and psychic that rattled Sagitaris bones, it spoke calmly: “I am Bel’akor: The Dark Master. Kneel before me mortals and be rewarded for your efforts”

Shakily the three knelt before the monster and awaited their fate. Sagitari looked away from the creature, it was painful to look at. Its very presence seemed to taint reality. When-ever he dared to sneak a glance he felt nauseated. When it moved it was like the universe needed a moment to processes the action, and could not fully translate what it did. The laws of physics were weakened by its very presence.

The Psychic effect was similarly horrible. It was like a like a Dark-Star burning with malice and cruel intellect was drawing his soul into its gravitational pull and searing patterns of evil and insanity into his very being.

“The second item? Do you have it?” the monster growled.

Nervously Sagitari 17’s only equal on the mission Pelia 7 removed the item from her pack. While his had been purchased and consecrated hers had been crafted and imbued with power. It appeared a simple Goblet carved from Granite and inlaid with rubies. In truth, it was one of the most complicated items ever crafted on Luna.

Using warpborn knowledge and the Genetic Mastery of the Selenar this artifact could be used to create virtually infinite amounts of biological matter, even that touched by the warp. Pelia 7 lifted the chalice up towards Bel’akor. The First Prince pricked his palm with a claw and allowed a few drops of jet black blood fall into the goblet.

With cruel expectant eyes, he watched them and spoke: “Now the final part of the ritual.”

The Grail could duplicate anything, even the Aspect Incarnate before thems blood, for a price. It needed a similar enough substance to overwrite. Sagitari grabbed the third survivor and held her neck above the grail. Praying softly he slit the panicking women's throat and it poured into the goblet. When it touched Bel’akors blood it instantly turned as black as his.

Soon the goblet was filled and the women's body slumped to the ground. Smiling the Aspect Incarnate moved back towards the portal and spoke. “Continue the destiny the Four have picked for you, poison the Legions with my blood and prepare for the promised day. My power has filled this chamber and the Anathema will not be able to tell what has occurred here unless he gets too close.”

Like a great Draconic Serpent, The Dark Prince of Chaos slithered back through the portal with a final warning “Do not disappoint us, there is much at stake and the war has not even begun.”

With that, the monster that would haunt the two survivors minds for the rest of their existence faded back into the Immaterium. The Crack shrunk and they stood in silence. Sagitari knew the atrocities he had committed were just the start of many, but he also knew any price was worth freeing his people from the Emperor's shackles. Much had to be done to prepare for the promised day and he would show the Four his devotion and that humanity was worthy of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not trust the perspective of the Rangda nor Chaos cultists. I am not usually a fan of unreliable narrators but found it appropriate for these two breeds of evil.


	9. The Aquilla and the Dragon (Chapter 15)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor unites Mars and Terra. Then travels to the Labyrinth of Night to tie up loose threads.

**Chapter Fifteen: The Aquila and the Dragon.**  
  
 _Location: The Temple of All Knowledge on Mars._  
  
 _Date: 792.M30_  
  
Billions of Martians cheered as the great gates of the Temple opened. A month ago word spread across the red planet that discussion between the Mechanicum Parliament and the Omnissiah. Pilgrims ranging from devout Cyber-Serfs to entire Titan Legions had come to Tharsis. With hopes of seeing the Omnissiah and to learn the outcome of the secret proceeding inside Olympus Mons.  
  
Very little information had passed in or out of the Temple of All Knowledge. All that was known to the public was the preceding events. Such as the Omnissiah arriving in a Divine Chariot that even now hung over the Mountain, casting a literal and metaphorical shadow of the so-called Imperium.  
  
Then after performing multiple miracles, including inspiring two god machines to kneel before him the Omnissiah entered the Temple and made his way to the Parliament within. Flanked by House Taranis Knights he had surprisingly politely asked the complete Martian Parliament to assemble.  
  
It had taken some time and quite a bit of political cajoling on the front of various converted individuals to arrange this soon enough the entirety of the Martian Elite were under one roof with the Emperor of Mankind. Then his intent was declared plainly. To fuse the Empire of Terra and the Empire of Mars into one.  
  
The initial shock and outrage were quelled when the Emperor had explained his goal of unification, not conquest. His goal was to bring humanity together as one great civilization capable of withstanding any horror the universe could produce. Terra and Mars were to be the twin Foundation and Keystone pieces of this edifice.  
  
Soon the Adamantium vault doors of the Parliament were shut and negotiations began in earnest. The Martian citizenry was ignorant to whatever was occurring within the fortified heart of Mechanicum governance. Radical factions both supporting and opposing the newly declared Omnissiah were kept under control thanks to the twin threats of the Bucephalus and the various Cybernetic, Skitarii, and Titan forces brought by the Parliamentarians.  
  
Over the next year Mars awaited any news, tensions continued to mount and three attempted breaches into the Parliament-Sanctum were stopped with extreme prejudice. Now, this period of unknown fearful possibility had ended with the Omnissiah and the Martian Parliament exiting the sanctum and making their way out of the temple of all knowledge.  
  
The crowd's noise, a mix of organic voices, vox-projections and binary screams traveled far through even Mars’s thin atmosphere. The closest to the opening gates watched the twin Titans kneel once again as the Omnissiah made his way to the center of the plaza outside of the Temple.  
  
All 687 members of the Martian Parliament assembled around him in a great semicircle. The Emperor held his left hand aloft for the countless citizens and Pict-Capturers to see. In it was an ornate scroll emblazoned with a Twin-Headed Eagle. It unfurled and nearly reached the Emperor's knee. Written on the exquisite vellum in the Emperor's own hand the first copy of The Treaty of Olympus Mons was proudly displayed.  
  
Speaking through every Vox transmitter on the hemisphere the Omnissiah addressed Mars. “Children of Mars, once in ages past humanity was scattered to the stars. Countless worlds looked to distant Sol as the cradle and nexus of the species. It was an era of wonders where we claimed the stars as our own. Humanity grew to never before seen height and unlocked the secrets of the cosmos.”  
  
The Martians like so many of Terras lost children carried ancient cultural memories of the Golden Age. Wistful tales passed down hundreds of generations that spoke of Utopia and its destruction. With those tales swirling through the mind of his captive audience the Emperor continued.  
  
“Yet this Age of Glory came to an end when the twin threats of Metal and Flesh let the galaxy burn. Anima Silica, artificial minds created by us in our quest for knowledge and power brought unimaginable ruin. The threat of Metal shattered the once united worlds of Man.”  
  
For the Mechanicum the Abominable Intelligence was not a distant nightmare like on so many worlds, but an ever-present threat creeping below the Rust-wastes. Every year expeditions sent to scavenge long lost ruins disappeared. Even now some of the more remote Forges kept formidable defenses and security not to deter rivals, but keep the source of distant binary-screeches that traveled on Iron-flaked winds away.  
  
Feeling the attention of billions upon him the Emperor continued: “This shattered domain was still reeling from the War against the Iron Ones when the threat of Flesh reared its head. Warp touched humans were once rare, not any longer. The Immaterium reached new frenzies of madness and isolated the shards of man. Their they were easy prey to things brought forth from broken minds, and Alien monsters”  
  
“The Age of Wonders ended long ago and now we have survived an Age of Darkness. That age is at an end. No longer shall we cower isolated in the shadows, fearing parasites and scavengers. The time has come for a new age! An age of Unification! An Age of Imperium!”  
  
“For far too long humanities twin homes of Terra and Mars have been alone in the dark. Today I come seeking unification. Not conquest, not subjugation but unity. Over the past year, the Lords of Mars and I have negotiated the first Treaty of Unification. Mars and Terra will be twins no longer but one! A heart to a new Empire of Humanity. One that will drive out the darkness and usher in a new and eternal Golden Age!”  
  
“I have come not as a conqueror but a uniter. This treaty is not shackles or a surrendering of sovereignty but an opportunity to become part of the greatest undertaking in Human History! So I leave the choice to the Citizens of Mars. Will you join the newborn Imperium of Man and help claim our species birthright?”  
  
For a few seconds loaded with the weight of destiny, all of Mars was silent. Not a single human voice, mechanical or otherwise spoke, and the great factories and industrial complexes seemed all the quieter for it. A single voice buried deep within the Tharsis crowd broke the silence. The young Tech-Priestess breathed in a deep breath only possible due to the Omnissiah’s blessing and shouted as loud as her mortal vocal cords could: “THE OMNISSIAH WILLS IT!”  
  
The minute those fateful words left her mouth The Red Planet erupted. Billions chanted that simple yet Galaxy-Changing phrase. Titan Warhorns blared, Industrial Vox-Emitters were repurposed, and translations of that phrase in the countless binary dialects of Mars echoed through the Data-streams of the Mechanicum.  
  
Eventually, the Great Data-Stacks of the Temple of All knowledge would contain as many recordings of this moment as possible in a Data-Loom set aside singularly for recording the Year Long period known to the history books as The Aquilas Forging.  
  
As the Chanting continued to shake Tharsis the Emperor handed the Scroll to the Fabricator General of Mars. The ancient cyborg bowed low and prepared to have the treaty copied and dispersed across Mars. Briefly locking eyes with the Speaker for the Parliament the Emperor could see the haunted look the 687 would all share till their deaths even through his extensive cybernetics.  
  
The Emperor had originally not wanted to use his powers and memories to persuade mortals, it had the unfortunate side effect of causing religious zealotry and occasionally psychosis in those who were gifted visions. Experiences with Uriah and his new begrudging realization that stamping out religion was not feasible had made the Emperor more liberal with this particular use of Psychic power.  
  
Negotiations had gone smoothly. This version of the treaty was based on a template he and Malcador had devised when the earliest plans for the Imperium were created. It contained a set of parameters and the more optimal outcomes within those parameters. The Treaty of Olympus Mons was almost perfect using those measurements.  
  
Mars would be considerably less independent than in the God-Emperor's age, instead of The Imperium and Mechanicum being symbiotic civilizations the Adeptus Mars and Adeptus Terra would form the core of the Imperium. Mars was entrusted with manufacturing, innovation, and exploration. Dangerous technologies were regulated or strictly forbidden and records of all discoveries or innovations were given to Terra.  
  
Each of these points and the hundreds of other articles composing the Treaty had been accompanied by a vision. Each was taken from the Emperor's own mind or that of a soul linked to his. The visions explicitly demonstrated the reasons for the article and its importance. The effect had been tremendous and Revelations could have probably pressed for complete subjugation if he wished.  
  
As appealing as that sounded he knew the long-term effects of such a thing would be disastrous. Mars could not be subjugated through force of arms or will. It would need to join the Imperium willingly in order to prevent future cataclysms. A Martian Schism would be just as disastrous for humanity as a Heresy-War, if not more so.  
  
Knowing it would take one final push to bring the Mechanicum fully under his sway the Emperor spoke again to the crowd that by this point was near-deranged in religious zealotry. The instant he motioned for silence it fell across the Plaza and Mars in a ripple of respect.  
  
“Before this date, I wore a simple Bird-of-Prey as my sigil. This ancient mark of nobility represented humanities history and our power and ability to reach new heights. It has served me well but a new sigil is required! One to represent the unity of humanity! The age of the Raptor Imperialis is over, now is the Era of the Aquila!”  
  
Crossing his hands over his chest in a salute that would be used originally secularly then eventually religiously in the God-Emperor's age The Emperor of Mankind formed the Aquila. When his palms touched the ornate Auramite of his breastplate the ignited with psychic power. Using a mixture of telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and technopathy he reforged the Raptor on his chest into a mighty twin-headed eagle.  
  
Once the forging was finished he opened up his arms as to greet all of Mars, from his armored fingertips Psychic power flowed. A massive Aquilla formed of golden fire came into existence and flew from the Emperor's hands into the sky. It grew in size and complexity as it ascended. Slowly becoming a colossal double-headed Eagle with thunderbolts for plumage that circled the plaza.  
  
It reached the size of an Escort Craft and soared over Olympus Mons. A trail of psi-sparks marked its path and it periodically let out a victorious screech. The Martians watched it with utmost reverence and responded with a content stillness to the sight, in major contrast to their previous reactions.  
  
Confident the Mechancium had been secured the Emperor left the titanic Plaza. His honor guard of knights instinctually surrounded him as he made his way back towards the Bucephalus. The Crowd parted for him but still jostled to get a better view of the Omnissiah.  
  
In a reverse of the procession, he had made one Martian year ago he ascended Olympus Mons and returned to his ship. With negotiations done soon the implementation of the treaty would begin. Then, at last, the great forges of Mars would start work on the tools of conquest needed to secure humanities future.  
  
Subliminal hints had been instilled in the Martian Parliament and a select few his Psychic Aquila-Construct had identified as it soared across Mars before eventually fading. Those affected would subconsciously ease the Mechanicum in a more progressive direction. Another of the many steps that would be taken to wean humanity off of Religion and ensure its survival.  
  
Yet now before anything else was to begin the Emperor would rest and learn of what was occurring on Terra. The Custodes greeted him with the closest approximation to relief possible to them. Communiques from the Palace and Terra flooded in. Update on Palace construction, infrastructure projects, the Legions and most importantly the Primarchs were presented to him.  
  
Everything seemed to be going as planned on all fronts. Except for a few coded messages from Malcador. The appearance of the Nighthaunter was worrying but it had been dealt with. The Emperor wondered what possible twisted things were being planned by the Primordial Annihilator. It appeared they intended to use the shift of the timeline against him. Cutting their losses and hoping to get some sort of advantage it appeared.  
  
The incident with Magnus was also troubling but appeared to have been dealt with and the results were optimum. Yet the Emperor was distressed by the many ways it could have imploded. The XVth primarch was far too important to risk in such a way. Taranis would need to be strictly forbidden from doing anything similar, without his or Malcadors permission that is.  
  
Another was a strange long distance sensor readout. It appeared a flotilla of ramshackle Starships had transitioned at Sols Mandeville Point closest to Terra. The fleet had made a frantic dash for Terra. Xeno raiders had picked off a third of it before they reached Terra’s orbital defenses.  
  
The flotilla was captured and its crew was discovered to be thousands of refugees from a nearby star-system that had followed a Holy-Women's vision of the “Light of Salvation” The Emperor was not particularly surprised. This was going to be a side effect of the Astronomicons power. If used correctly this could significantly help unification efforts.  
  
The last of these messages was a simple report. It told of a disturbance on Luna, where some sort of cogitator glitch had released the Guardian of the Lab by accident. The Gene-Cult representatives and Adepts stationed their both confirmed nothing was amiss and the situation was handled.  
  
A faint smile crossed the Emperor's features. It was one of the few true ones in his time on Mars. Not a theatrical one or the way a human interpreted him, but an actual smile of pleasure. The Primordial Annihilator claimed to be a pantheon of Gods, yet they were far bigger fools than even the Master of the Webway who claimed to be the God of such things.  
  
Throughout his very long life, Revelation had a taste for strategy games. Chess, Go, Shogi, Draughts, Crowns, Warfield, Naruag, Regicide and similar. The very first lesson of those games was utterly lost upon the self-proclaimed “Dark Gods.” As beings of gluttony and insanity, the concept of sacrificing a lesser piece to win the game was beyond them.  
  
Finishing reading the messages the Emperor continued on to his next ordeal, Cawls fate. The Parliament had been extremely harsh and wanted to messily execute or lobotomize the rogue Priest. Bribes, threats, logic and millennia of oratory skill did little to make them budge. Belisarius Cawl had managed to antagonize nearly all of Mars to an extreme degree.  
  
Eventually, he had gotten them to the point where two options were offered to Cawl. First was the memory eraser and exile he had suffered in another age. The other was complete banishment. He would never set foot on Mars or another Forge World. His skitarii and other servants would be taken to Mars and mindwiped. If Cawl was caught working on any Mechanicum technology he would be tortured to death.  
  
When he told Cawl his options he did not even hesitate before taking the first option. The Tech-Priest was confident his skills would keep him alive long enough to return to Terra and retrieve his Inferior. The Emperor thanked him for his service and wished him luck on his journeys. Belisarius Cawl bowed to his Master and simply responded “The pleasure was mine, the opportunity to study at the feet of humanities greatest mind, no matter the consequences is unparalleled”  
  
He was escorted of the vessel and taken into Skitarii custody. After that, the Emperor retired to his personal chambers. His weapons and armor were removed and stored with utmost care. The new sigil was documented by his Armorers and word was already being sent to Terra to change the patterns on future Armor for the Custodes and Astartes. Once alone in his meditative chamber, he reached out psychically into the Ships heart.  
  
Similar to the Astronomicon he was linked to the Bucephalus and could power its systems even from a considerable distance. The Cognatu Ferrum’s design required far less energy than that great beacon but far more precision and could be remotely controlled by maybe a single AU away instead of the thousands of Lightyears of the Astronomicon.  
  
The Cognatu Ferrum reacted instantly and signaled it was ready to fulfill his commands. The Emperor activated a unique program that only he and the Psychic-Intelligence knew of. It was an advanced piece of Psychic-Engineering that used the nature of the Cognatu Ferrum in a unique fashion.  
  
The Ship was powered and controlled by a Psychic Echo of the Emperor and he intended to create an echo of that echo. Energy poured from the Emperor into the vessel and soon a flickering outline appeared before him. Focusing his power into the prism of the Cognatu Ferrum he watched the glowing shadow come into clearer detail. It was a copy of the Emperor.  
  
The Cognatu Ferrum had created a Psychic hologram of the Emperor, it matched him perfectly in appearance, psychic signature, and aura. He could communicate through it remotely and no sensor, be it material or immaterial could detect it was not actually him. It would provide the Emperor a smokescreen.  
  
No one, not even his Custodes could know what he was about to do. The Projection would ensure his secrecy as he went to deal with the other reason he had come to Mars. It was time for the man named Revelation and known by countless other titles and names to meet with an old friend and enemy. The time had come for him to revisit the reason for one of his oldest titles: Dragonslayer.

The Emperor's quarters were sparse, not yet holding the various mementos, trophies, and piles of official documents it would fill with throughout the Great Crusade. A Bed, meditation space, desk, small library, workstation, and wardrobe. The last of those items was now the focus of the Emperor's attention.

Within it was a collection of uniforms, robes and other garments the Emperor wore when not on the field of war. Of these clothes, he sought one in particular. It was an ancient relic from the worst days of Strife. It was another of the Emperors inventions, a suit of woven nano-gossamer inlaid with Psi-reactive crystals. It was known as the Shadow of Judgment.

It looked like a pool of liquid shadows suspended in a magnetic cradle. Revelation did not so much don it, as immerse himself in the inky material. It flowed over his bare skin and clothing like oil. Soon his entire body was covered with the substance. Taking a deep breath right as it covered his head the Emperor let his power flow into the Psychic-circuits carved into the very molecules of the suit.

Reacting to its master the material formed around him and molded itself into a suit of armor. Unlike the hulking warplate, he wore when leading armies to battle this was a more subtle tool. Designed to allow him unrestricted accesses and subtlety the Shadow of Judgment was arguably the single greatest piece of Man-portable stealth technology in human history.

Nanotechnology, scavenged Eldar relics, and the Emperors own genius had come together to give an Emperor the secrecy he needed to salvage as much as he could during Mankind's fall. He remembered viscerally the sights and sounds of the last times he had worn this armor. An age when humanity did not need a champion and ruler to save them. When the only salvation was to hide in the shadows and beg the storm passed you over.

*Sneaking through Hive-sized abominations of scrap metal and insanity, desperately searching for its Singularity Unit as it lumbered towards a refugee camp of 50 Million innocents.*

*Gangs of Drug-Addled and depraved Eldar stalking him through the burning Capital City of Eldaneshuri*

*Breaking into Vaults that were meant to survive an apocalypse, and had.*

The Armor finally settled around him, its design was reminiscent of a great bird of prey and combined with the Emperor's own skills and powers made him virtually undetectable. To those who he wanted to see him, he appeared like an Obsidian Eagle carved out of the shadows. Suitably intimidating for the line of work it was built for.

Letting his body and mind settle into routines not used in centuries Revelation became a phantom of the likes Konrad, Kota, and Kalib aspired to be. Even his Custodes were unaware as he slipped past them. Removed from their minds and auto-senses he was undetectable.

Soon he exited the Bucephalus through its open ramp. Right in between the Custodes and Knights who had spent the last few hours staring at each other from either end of the gantry. Into the Martian Night, Revelation flew. He rarely got to use his bodies full capabilities, the Emperors physical form was a highly variable thing that could be modified how over he wished.

Millenia of knowledge in the fields of Biomancy, Transhumanism, and simple biology had given him absolute control over every cell in his being. Combined with his psychic gifts the Emperor could appear as anyone and virtually anything. Now he was an Avian-Shadow moving as fast as Superhuman Muscle and Nano-fibers could.

Within seconds he had cleared the crater's edge and jumped dozens of meters into the air. Mars low gravity made his expedition that much quicker. Moving like a black bolt of lighting across the ancient peak of Olympus Mons the Emperor allowed himself a few moments of tranquillity.

Life had been a frantic, painful race against time over the last few millennia and moments of enjoyment like this were few and far between. A few decades ago he would not have allowed himself the simple joy of testing his own physicality, duty and stress had threatened to crush the humanity of the eldest human.

That message from a distant hopefully averted future had reignited the Emperor's humanity. While he had intended to have the Primarch project drain some of his more excessive emotions it would have only turned him into such a callous figure if he had allowed it. That version of the Emperor had been willing and wanted to give up his humanity to save the species.

The Emperor who now leaped between colossal industrial sites as if they were a gymnasium had realized that humanity needed a human leader. If he gave up his emotions and sentiment he would be a perfect machine to control the destiny of mankind. Gazing out across the pocked surface of Mars he was viscerally reminded of what had happened the last time something similar had occurred.

While the Memories were still blurry and partially concealed Revelation had a suspicion there was more to the story of the God-Emperor's decay and the cause of the Heresy. He could only hope the trust he had put in that living corpse and its decisions was the correct choice.

Any attempt to unlock Memories before the God-Emperor had wanted them to be had been met with Psychic warnings that they would be deleted if he continued. So now he could only wait and use the wisdom of the past and future to help forge a better present.

Keeping his speed to below Martian Mach speed in order to prevent notable air-disturbance the Emperor quickly approached the Edge of Olympus Mons. Here the ancient Shield Volcano’s slopes dropped away into a twenty-kilometer cliff-face of time-worn stone. A different Emperor would have slithered down its side and crept through the industrial landscape below. Emperor Revelation: the Master of Mankind and Anathema of Chaos leaped off the precipice.

Armored Wings expanded from his shoulder blades and carried the Emperor aloft. The Martian atmosphere prevented mechanical flight but the wings served a purpose. The Psi-Crystals within the wings could be energized separately from the main armor allowing telekinetic propulsion that was subtle enough to remain undetected while powerful enough to allow Supersonic flight. This allowed the armors body to maintain its other functions.

Like a shadow of the great Aquila he had summoned a few hours previous the Emperor soared over Mars. The industrial landscape before him was a patchwork of craters, (both natural and unnatural) living habs and colossal Forges-Temples that belched ash and dust into the sky. He found it saddening how Mars had reverted to its earliest roots. When the Red Planet was first settled humanity had migrated nearly all of its industrial techbase to it. The move was what saved Earths rapidly declining biosphere and helped push humanity towards interstellar civilization.

Eventually, during the Golden Age, the second capital of humanities state as an industrial disaster zone was deemed unacceptable and massive cleanup and terraforming projects were put in place. Research centers and industrial complexes were buried far beneath Mars surface in great futuristic catacombs that held millennia of acquired knowledge and insight into the cosmos. After centuries of world-shaping miracles, Terra shared its title of Blue Gem of Sol with another.

That world could maybe live again if the galaxy and sanity could survive the oncoming storm. Eventually, the heavily industrialized landscape below started to transition to the Crimson deserts of Mars. He was close to his destination, it was a place that Martians had avoided for as long as humans had set foot on this planet. The Noctis Labyrinthus: The Dragons Tomb.

The twelve hundred kilometer long scar on Mars’s face had originally been bought by a number of shell companies owned by Revelation during the early Martian expansion. It had been a major legal scandal when the media discovered the Companies were dumping radioactive, toxic and industrial waste into what was one of the wonders of the Solar System.

This had prevented the area from being declared a Natural Wonder and becoming a much-visited location along with helping galvanize the public to campaign for better stewardship of humanities cultural and natural wonders. These were both the Emperor's goals and the Labyrinthus had been protected successfully, until the living hell of the Cybernetic Revolt.

The Emperor had always known the day when the thing he had sealed below Mars’s surface would awake would come. Yet it struck at the single worst moment, during the Lost War. Humanity was fighting a pitched battle against the Ancient Aeldari Empire.

The Solar Federation had reached never before seen heights of technological and societal advancement. None could question their might and wisdom. Countless species had been integrated or vassalized into this commonwealth. Seeing visions of the inevitable Fall of the Eldar and the horrors it would unleash Revelation had pushed humanity into crushing the only other contender on the galactic scale.

It was easy to do, the Aeldari Empire had earned the ire of all sentient life through their cruelty and sadism. The few human psychics along with their Xeno equivalents could sense the growing tumor within the Immaterium and knew action must be taken. Armadas and Armies greater than anything the galaxy had seen except for the War in Heaven amassed at Arcadia: the Last Harbor.

The Emperor himself, masquerading as a Transhuman General lead from the front during the conflict. It was a horrible period of death and destruction. Echoing the War the Aeldari were designed to fight the Masters of the Materium and Immaterium battled. Every battle was a pitched conflict that often ended in deadlock. Yet steadily, slowly the Solar Federation pushed deeper and deeper into the tainted heart of the Galaxies current rulers.

The sights they saw drove some of the weaker soldiers insane and would haunt even the most ancient and battle-hardened Veteran of the Beast Wars for the rest of their lives. Planet wide blood-orgies were legions of hunters, once followers of Kuronos continuously brought billions of innocents to be used in the maddening debauchery. Pocket Dimensions filled with living art that still screamed and begged for death even after gouts of Plasma had reduced them to cinders.

These and other nightmares had utterly validated the worthiness of their cause and invigorated the Federation Forces. The Knife-Ears would be put to the blade as punishment for their countless evils. Worlds that had been centers of Aeldari civilization before humans had even become fully upright were purged. Mechanical hosts battled Warp-Born abominations and for a scant moment it seemed the era of the Aeldari was at an end,

The Seers and Soothsayers of their enemy must have sensed it too for they devised a truly horrific scheme to cripple Humanity. It was brilliant, vindictive and utterly brazen. They intended to release the thing sleeping below Mars. Confident that after it had crippled the upstart Mon’keigh the Yngir Dragon would be easy to slay. For they had done it once an age ago, what was to stop them from doing it again?

Sensing their intent the Emperor rushed back to Sol to stop the insanity. He could still remember it viscerally, Eldar blood cooking on his blood as he moved through the ancient Metal tunnels. The deep bass hum of the emerald energy that started to seep through the cavern cracks. How the Eldar had looked at him when he entered the Dragon's Heart. Sadistic glee played across the vermins face as it screamed in heavily accented Gothic “Too late Mon’keigh! Your fate has been decided by your better. This is your punishment for daring to stand against the rightful masters of the galaxy!”

The Emperor still savored the memory of the Seers face contorting first in confusion, then mind breaking fear once it realized the power of the being before it. That was little consolation for the damage done by the Xeno’s. After erasing it from existence Revelation attempted to keep the Dragon sealed.

(EDIT)-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ages past in his youth he had cast the monster down after discovering it feeding off primitive humans. It had been weak and near dead then. If he had been an instant faster that would have still been the case. At that moment before Revelation reached it the Dragon had slipped its Eldritch Tendrils into the Neurosphere. The grand data-web that linked humanity across the Stars had been breached.

Like the ravenous predator, it was the Dragon gorged itself on the trillions of digital life forms living within the Neurosphere. Entire civilizations of digitized Humans were slaughtered and consumed. Data-Habs were emptied into the Monsters maw in a futile effort to satiate its endless hunger for sentient life.

Those unlucky enough to be spared the devouring were corrupted, an intellect older than Terra itself turned its malignant desire to creating new slaves and thralls. Super Intelligences that had faithfully served humanity since the Age of Old Earth ordered the extermination of worlds. Uploaded ancestors and Cybernetic gods butchered trillions.

The Solar Federations mighty fleets broke apart, busy fighting corrupted members and racing back to Federations Space in a vain attempt to stop the Slaughter. The Galaxy burned as allied species that had sworn blood-oaths of loyalty and brotherhood to humanity turned upon us. The Eldar were content to watch the insanity and slither back into their debauchery undisturbed.

Machines and cruel intelligences unleashed weapons beyond the understanding of mortal humans. The Neurosphere became the Dragons domain and the Federation was fractured. Each world desperate to survive the Cybernetic Holocaust. Silica Animus, once humanities greatest ally and tool became its downfall.

Yet before the Dragon-Reborn could slip its fetters and began its conquest and consumption Revelation reached it. The Dragon and the Warrior-King faced each other once again. Glutted on the energy of entire civilizations the Dragon was quickly becoming the Lord of Oblivion that broke the Old Ones, yet as long as it was bound its might was diminished.

The Dragon had indeed grown mighty but so had Revelation. The psychic light of the being now known as the Emperor of Mankind called to all human souls untouched by the Great Enemy. Any fallen Child of Terra who was within its range became one with it. Protected and safe they could rest for eternity as their psychic spark increased the might of the Emperor.

For over thirty-three millennia Revelation had protected humanity and grown in power and wisdom. Reaching heights only ever matched by the Greatest of the Old Ones. Now the deaths of trillions who had been lucky enough to be within the glow of the Beacon network empowered him further. It was one of the Federations most classified secrets that he provided the spark to the Navis-Networks series of Warp-Pyres.

The Dragon and Dragonslayer both reaching a state any mortal would call Godhood clashed. Material and Immaterial energies battled as the Federation crumbled. Through herculean effort, Revelation plunged his ancient blade into its neck and bound it with chains of white-hot psychic power.

Psi-Flames burned through the Dragon and the visceral roars it produced shook the very fabric of spacetime. Yet it still reached out through the Neurosphere, that domain utterly within its grasp. The Iron War would only worsen if the Dragon could still manipulate the Legions of Automata and Digitized Humans future generations would name the Men of Iron.

With a heavy heart, the Dragonslayer unleashed a final and terrible weapon. One that would protect humanity and the galaxy from the Dragon while also destroying so much the species had worked for. This final weapon was born from the ignorance and arrogance of the Dragon.

The greatest mistake and weakness of the so-called Star-Gods was a product of their very nature. The long dead species that gave them form had mistaken them for simple but powerful Energy beings, but they were so much more. The race the Hrud called Mirror-Devils had found living avatars of the cosmos’s natural order and molded them into Cruel Gods.

Entropy became a Reaper of Life. Gravity and Love became linked and went insane. Energy sought nothing but ruin an inferno. The greatest and most terrible of these avatars was Time given Draconic shape. The Lord Oblivion that had slept within the Red Planet. As incarnates of Natural laws and fundamental constants the Realm of Impossibility was not just corrosive and destructive but outside their influence and sight.

If the Dragon had not been blind to the Warp it would have never breached the Neurosphere. For this great domain of information and data was not some massive computer network or Data-link like the Dragon thought. It had been built into a pocket of sanity within the Warp itself using impossible technology. These Akashic Records had been crafted to safeguard all human knowledge and digital creations. The Dragon had violated them and consumed its inhabitants, and exposed itself.

In a great psychic blow, Revelation ripped open the envelope of reality than contained the Neurosphere. The frothing acidic insanity of the Warp surged into the semi-digital realm of mankind's wonders. Like an ocean of cancerous bile it filled and corrupted this new domain. Adding a new source of corruption and horror to taint the increasingly mad mechanical legions

Legions of Steel and Electricity fell upon themselves as the twin corruptions of Dragon and Daemons battled. The twin calamities of humanities suffering and the Eldars debauchery stirred the Warp into a frenzy unseen since the End of the War in Heaven.

The Psychic backlash had coursed through the Neurosphere and into the Dragons own being. Forcing it back fully into its own body where it was bound utterly by Revelations power. Poisoned by the Warp and broken by Emperor-to-be it returned to its previous existence as a Dead-God Dreaming.

Now the Emperor of Mankind had come to ensure the imprisonment of the Dragon, ensure the survival and sanity of its Guardian and maybe just maybe gain yet another weapon in the War against the Great Enemy. As much as the Yngirs nature made them a victim of the Warp it offered a measure of protection from one of its weapons. The sight into possibility offered by the Warp was always murky in regards to them.

It was worryingly similar to a Blank or Pariah in some ways. An empty spot on the canvas of destiny that could only be deciphered by viewing the picture around it. In the God-Emperor's reality, this expedition never occurred, yet his own visions of the future changed by the Primarchs new fate and memories from his broken counterpart informed him this was the best path to take. With grim certainty, the Emperor of Mankind clad in the Shadow of Judgment reached the entrance to the Dragons tomb.

Landing softly the Emperor willed his armor to change from its eerie avian appearance to a more subtle battle-plate. The rocky crag where he stood hid one of the numerous entrances into the sprawling tomb of the Dragon. During the 17th wave of Martian colonization, Revelation had bankrolled a secretive construction project in and around the Noctis Labyrinth. Supposedly it tried and failed to clean up the pollution Revelation himself was responsible. Unknown to all except him and that eras acolytes were the truths of the project.

A colossal subterranean series of chambers had been constructed around the broken corpse of the Dragon. Ornamental chains to encircle the desiccated remains of the Star-God. Millenia ago it had housed research facilities and monitoring stations. Many wonders of the Age of Technology were helped by the secrets deciphered there. From animated Shards sealed away on Medusa to vicious nanite plagues.

That was all gone now, the Dragons tomb had become truly that. An empty ruin that acted as both container for the corpse of a Fallen God and as a monument to Mankind's rise, fall and if the Shining Path was walked Eternal rise. Now it was time to meet with the tombs ghost and its keeper.

Telekinetically the Emperor moved the boulder that blocked the entrance and walked into the eerie abyss. Shutting the stone behind him he began his journey deeper into the tomb. The polished basalt echoed softly with his footfalls. He cared not if any heard them, it was better this way actually. Catching a mad-inventor no matter what era they originated from unaware was a distasteful proposition.

Through miles of tunnels he journeyed. Broken machinery and facilities littered the tomb and the only illumination was a faint sickly green glow. It would have been undetectable to any being whose senses were less advanced than a Primarchs. To the Emperor, it was a bright ugly beacon that guided the way through the crumbling chambers.

Even with his superhuman speed, it took the Emperor an hour to reach his destination. The Dragon Gate lay before him. The massive adamantium structure was the single portal of entry to the Cavern below. Esoteric and Formidable technologies were interwoven in its very molecular structure.

Matter, energy, and more impossible things could not bypass the barrier. Even so, it would be utterly useless if the Dragon ever awoke. For this gate and most of the Tombs defenses were not built to keep the prisoner in but potential liberators out.

In some physics-defying way the sickly green glow of Yngir technology seeped from between the twin doors of the gate. As if the impossible energies were alive and fighting to escape. The Dragon Gate was large enough for Titan class walkers to enter and the basic blueprint had actually been used in the designing of the Eternity Gate.

Aldar Singh the current Warmason and chief architect of the rapidly growing palace had learned decades ago not to ask why seemingly absurd things like the Gate were required. Many of the Emperor's followers and inner circle throughout the millennia had learned that ignorance was in no way bliss when it came to Revelations business, but helped keep them sane.

As he reached the titanic structure The Emperor reached out and touched its seemingly bare Adamantium surface. To any mortal lacking sufficient visual magnification, the gate seemed a massive perfectly smooth surface. In truth, every square centimeter of the structure was carved with infinitesimal circuits of both scientific and occult nature.

They were part of the defenses of the gate, providing protection from the most exotic of weapons, including Adrathic beams… Complicated self-regenerating energy fields organization from the Gate enclosed the Dragons corpse and as long as the gate held the Dragon's body and sealed remains could survive Exterminatus.

Recognizing one of the two surviving people permitted to open them at his touch the Gates hummed softly. They yielded under the Emperor's gentle push. More like oaken doors to a manner house then the ten thousand ton slabs of Adamantium barely suspended by Anti-Gravity that they were.

He passed through them and let the Gate shut silently. The only evidence of his passing was the waves of dust kicked up by its movement. The Green glow was omnipresent now. The air itself shimmered with etheric energies and stunk of ozone. Before him lay the entrance to the Dragons corpse.

Unlike the smooth basalt and machined perfection on the other side of the Gate, the chamber here was an ancient rough-hewn cavern. This was no research center but an excavation site. Ancient Gantries lined the Cavern walls, some leading to the left or right and a few being staircases to the bottom of the excavated cavern its siblings crossed. Yet the largest and most reinforced lead to the target of those long abandoned digs that formed the opposite wall of the Cavern.

Thousands of meters of mirror polished silver stretched in either direction. A small patch of the Dragons hide exposed and studied. Moving slowly along the decayed walkways the Emperor reached the reason the Dragon's gate was located at this particular part of the Tomb. This was not the most defensible nore deepest section of the tomb but the closest to the killing blow.

A Jagged puncture about two dozen meters tall and about hundred wide was the Cavern and gantries focus. The wound stretched from the beast's scales to its inner core. It was not the only of its kind. Six such marks were found at different parts of the Dragons corpse. All six intersected in the Dragon's heart.

Revelation could still remember the first time he entered this haunting chamber. The shock and wonder upon his then comparatively young face as he dragged the bound mass of writhing metal through the Martian sand. After subduing and crippling the Dragon a voice similar to the ancients who had guided him spiritually in his youth had led him here.  
The Shamans souls had tutored him in the use of his powers and explained his duties as mankind's protector. That had been shortly after he left his home village. Eventually one by one they faded into his spirit, becoming one with him. No longer separate voices but part of the psychic chorus that composed his soul.

Each human soul protected by his light would meet that fate. It was not a painful nor dark experience. Humanities afterlife was not a place of punishment and reward but of rest and unification with those who had come before. The Shaman's had only stayed independent through their own formidable psychic powers and the ritual that had created him.

So it had been a great shock when he had heard the new voice. It felt and sounded like the ancestors but somehow much much older. It guided him through the Dragons binding after he bested it and told him where the rest of its body lay. Then it faded like the rest, but not without thanking him for finishing the task it couldn’t. He would never admit it to anyone but aspects of his origin and being were unknown to even himself. That encounter was one of those occurrences that made him wonder.

As Revelation entered the Dragons wound he felt the metal. Unlike the Dragons smooth reptilian exterior or impossibly advanced mechanical innards this metal was warped and melted. More akin to badly welded metal or burnt steel than the perfect materials that made up the rest of the beast.

Revelation knew from experiments on the Dragons corpse nothing short of highly focused Psychic power would cause this level of damage. Anything else would heal almost instantly. Early studies had originally concluded the Dragon was somehow native to Mars. The complete lack of impact damage and crater had confused the first studies the Emperor had commissioned.

Eventually, they discovered the entire Noctis Labyrinthus was the Crater. Carefully and masterfully modified to appear as a natural feature by unknown Xeno hands. Revelation considered the Eldar the highest possible contender for such a role, considering their myths. The idea of them so close to Terra sickened him.

He knew for a fact some Aeldari Hunter-Cults had raided Terra during the Iron Age. Europa’s cultural subconscious never fully recovered from it. He had personally killed the entirety of the Cult within the Sol system to stop the Xenos. Then he used the remains and his own abilities to blame a nearby Ork rampage. Two birds one stone. It amused him to know future versions of the once mighty Eldar would be reduced to similar tactics.

As he walked down the slowly descending wound he mused on what sort of technology or being could have done this to the Yngir. Theoretically, he was capable of such a feat of destruction, but he had never weaponized his power to that scale in the material realm. Whatever had done this had come extremely close to actually killing the Dragon. That was another mystery if crippling its body was the Old Ones goal or the death of its mind.

Personally, the thought the latter. The knowledge he had ripped from the minds of an entire Hrud Juunlak about thirteen thousand years ago told him the destruction of a Yngir would bring cataclysm to the universe. There normally clear and accurate genetic memory only held sights of terrifying monsters formed from glowing Metal and slathered with flesh and blood flayed from hundreds of victims.

That Glow was the same as the one surrounding him, the sickly green glow of Yngir technology. In the Cauterized tunnel, it was significantly reduced. The joints and creases where it normally flowed from where melted shut here. Leaving the ragged puncture atypically dark. Only illuminated by the eerie glow far below at the tunnel's end and the occasionally Jacobs Ladder of green lighting that flowed up from his destination.

Following the miles long scar, he reached the inner core of the Dragon. Glowing Emerald light and an eternal storm of eldritch lighting greeted his senses as he left the passage. Below him was a titanic cavity. Easily a few kilometers both tall and wide. It was a nearly perfect sphere of the broken melted Living Metal. Six punctures including the one the Emperor stood at the lip of opened up into the cavity. Each fluting out into the scorched metallic-flesh/floor of the chamber.

Approximately Sixty million years ago something of incredible power had struck the Dragon with six beams of psychic might that cut through the Dragons defenses. The Psychic lances intersected and then detonated within the central and most heavily armored section of the Dragon. Utterly annihilating a vast portion of the Yngirs essence and subsystems.

A central piece of the Dragons mind and being survived the cataclysm intact. Its powers and mind were crippled utterly, becoming a ghost of the destroyer-deity it had once been. Its massive country sized body had been ruined. Warp Energy had flowed through its systems and poisoned what it had not broken. The Dragon was reduced to a lump of dumb metal hiding away in its own corpse.

Yet for some unknown reason, its foes did not pursue it for either capture of destruction. Instead, it was left in the very chamber the Emperor now stood. For almost sixty million years it had waited for its enemies to come, they never did. It was not ideal though in that abyss of time for it was time and that was all it needed.

Feeding off upper dimensional energies, forms of matter unknown to humanity even during its height and even more exotic forms of sustenance it grew. Like a metallic parody of gestating life, it grew in size, strength, and intellect. For sixty million years a being that had grown accustomed to devouring trillions and snuffing out suns had clung to its own parody of life inside a prison of its own dead flesh.

Finally after its epoch of suffering the Dragon was strong enough to leave its dessicated shell and bath in the light of its prisons star. Invigorated by the melody of radiation and energy abundant on the red worlds surface it took to the void in search of prey. It thought it found an easy meal upon the red planet's blue sibling. Revelation proved it very wrong upon the windswept dunes of the Sahara desert.

Now the Dragonslayer had returned to its ancient foes prison. Revelation looked up towards the center of the chamber where the impossible lighting enemated from. They're suspended in the center of the chamber was the Dragon. Chains forged in psychic fire and imbued with the Emperors own might coiled around its massive bulk. Each Chain led to an anchor point across the chamber forming a web of power and ritual importance. Perfectly designed to keep the Dragon asleep and sealed within its prison.

Occasionally the chains would rattle and a bolt of eldritch lighting would flare as the Yngir twitched in its forced sleep. Energy poured from its body and illuminated the chamber in the morbid green glow. Its form was still distinctly reptilian, a coiling serpentine body wrapped in wings designed to ride Solar Currents. Every time it shifted in its dreams the Dragon's body rippled like a pool of mercury. Exposing its loose grip on its own flesh and the world outside its Dead-Dreaming.

As Revelation approached the bottom of the chamber he noticed an oddity. Crafted from scrap metal and refuse found within the Tomb was a simple dwelling. A shack somehow anchored to the Chambers floor on stilts allowing to lay flat on the gently curving floor. As he approached it he heard a clamber of noises, the occupant was attempting to make its way out to meet him.

Clad in weathered and continuously repaired robes that had once been the brilliant Red of Martian rust-sand the Guardian of the Dragon exited his dwelling. He appeared neither old nor young. His true age of millennia hidden by the Emperor's power, yet like his liege the weight of ages could be seen in his green eyes. Adept Seymon: The Patron of Cybernetica, Father of Augments, Ancient Prophet of Deus Mechanicus and now Guardian of the Dragon knelt before the Emperor of Mankind.

As the nightmares of the Cybernetic Revolt ended and the start of the Age of Strife begin a few descendants of martian survivors who retained echoes of their ancestor's knowledge banded together. In order to preserve and expand the rapidly dwindling knowledge of the Martian People, they formed an organization built to guard and preserve the sacred machines that kept Mars alive.

Knowledge is Power, Knowledge is Survival and it must be Guarded. That was the creed of this ramshackle order who fought tooth and nail to protect the rapidly collapsing infrastructure and population of Mars. These were the forefathers and mothers of the Mechanicum.

As the Age of Strife bore on the teachings and philosophies of these sages grew and changed across Mars. Going from a society of presevers and memory keepers to a Religion of Machinery and Data. Revelation had actually helped the earliest members in their quest. He knew he must leave Terra in his quest to save mankind but someone must still guard the Dragon and preserve the knowledge of ages past.

In the early centuries of the Mechancium Seymon had been a brilliant Adept who discovered and improved upon countless cybernetic technologies. He was one of the first to preach the idea of becoming more like the Machine. This was done not out of the religious zealotry his descendants would possess, but survival.

The Artificial Ecosystem of Mars was long gone and its fragile atmosphere had been burnt by solar winds and polluted by War and the aftermath. So the people of Mars descended into there Habs and factories in order to survive. Yet which each passing generation the knowledge skills and parts needed to maintain these dwellings was sapped by the brutality of the rusting world.

Seymon realized they lacked the skill and equipment to keep their cities functioning, but they could keep their citizens alive. To survive the fall of Mars and the rusting of ruins they became one with the Machine. After decades of leadership and innovation as one of the leaders of the infant Martian Parliament, a stranger approached. A figure spoke only of in hushed tones by Martians as the benefactor. The Benefactor had asked him a simple question: “What would you do to ensure the survival of Mars and the human species?”

Seymons answer had been even more simple and utterly heartfelt “Anything”

The Benefactor had simply smiled at that and responded: “I have chosen you for a duty of incomparable importance. It will be beyond difficult and test your sanity and soul to limits beyond that of any human. There is no reward or ending to this duty, aside from death and knowledge beyond anything you could dream of. Failure means annihilation and extinction of all you know and holds dear.”

Seymon had nearly laughed in his face at first. The Benefactor might occasionally lead them to useful staches of Technology or warn them away from dangerous regions. He was not a Man to order him or produce such dire proclamations. His words of condemnation died on his lips as he looked into the Benefactors eyes. The brilliant Golden Orbs bore into his very soul. Seymon swore they had been normal brown eyes a moment before.

Knowledge and purpose burrowed into his being and truths too terrible and impossible were forced into his mind. The Dragon the fall of Man and what must be done scalded his psyche. Falling to his knees he wept and ripped at his flesh and cybernetics.

Looking up into the face of the man known by countless names across time and space he spoke as he took in deep shuddering breaths: “I accept. I accept this burden. I will guard the Dragon with my life and keep it sealed away. I will do this duty for as long as it takes. Ten days, ten years ten millennia, I will keep my people safe and pay for my sins.”

He spoke the truth that cut the closest to him. The one that pulled back the curtain and revealed the origin and inspiration for his life's work. Cybernetics, the art of turning man into machine had grown and spread throughout the Red Planet with him spearheading it and shepherding it.

Seymon never knew nor questioned the origin of his passion. He never guessed his intellect and emotionally detached countenance had attracted the attention of a sleeping monster that hungered below his home. That the dark twisted dreams of the Dragon had lit a spark within him. A spark to convert flesh to metal. To mirror in some obscene way the consumption and conversion of countless species at the Dragon's claws.

Its dreams had touched all of Mars, blessing them with insight and imagination to plumb the reaches of technology and the universe. While cursing them to subconsciously reenact the dreams and memories of the Dragon. Seymons brilliance had allowed a Dead god Dreaming to influence the universe once again. His actions to allow Mars to survive would doom them to a fate of Mechanical half-life as fanatical obsession spread like a virus and became entrenched as dogma.

The Machines of Mars were safe from the Dragon, protected by cloned spirits. Its people were not. The festering dogma of the Mechainiucm would slowly cut its members from Emotion and humanity. The Warp no longer keeping the monster at bay. Leaving them exposed to its Dreams and ambitions. All of this, all of this horror was sparked by Adept Seymons desire to save his people.

After faking his death and disappearing into the Dragon's Tomb he met the Benefactor and learned his name and saw for himself the monster sealed below. Revelation and the Dragon both stood before him. Equally wonderful and terrible. Bathed in the Dragons glow his souls was bound to the seals, bindings, and fetters keeping it locked in a state of unlife.

Revelation told him the reason for this. To guide humanity further along the shining path he must leave Sol and brave the distant void. The Warp was frothing insanity reaching a crescendo of storm and stress as the Aeldari damned themselves. It would weaken or disrupt his connection to the Seal as he became more separated from it by time and space.

This could not be allowed. Yet reinforcing the seal was possible. A sufficiently strong-willed mortal who had been touched by the Dragon could be bound to it. Acting as a receiver for Revelations power and keeping the Dragon asleep and bound while protecting the actual location.

For Millennia Seymon had stood guard. His mind and body empowered with psychic energy. Each night as he slept he caught glimpses of the Dragons Dreams, pulled from its mind by his link to it. The nightmarish and wondrous things he saw were recorded as per Revelations wishes. To form an archive of such things and prepare his successor.

Revelation knew the pain and exhaustion the ages could bring and did not want to damn a good man to an eternity of solitude and service. A successor would eventually be found. He assured Seymon that.

Now the Adept knelt before the Emperor of Mankind. The sights and horrors he had seen forging an adamantium clad loyalty to Revelation. The Dragonslayer had saved humanity and the galaxy from a nightmarish fate through his actions. Before he could even ask Revelation answered the question boring into Seymons mind.

“Soon, I can feel a candidate arising in the future. It will not be long, another century or two.”

Seymon let out a deep shuddering breath. A century or two, a century or two. Another century or two alone in this pit…. He could feel his mind starting to crack under the pressure.

Before the weight of millennia could come crashing down on him Revelation continued: “I am sorry, you should not have had to share this burden alone. Soon another will join you here. Not as guardian but as a friend and companion. Your successors will come in twos to prevent the suffering you have experienced.”

Nodding slightly the still shaking Seymon got to his feet and asked: “So you are here to talk with it?”

Seymon did not know if he imagined it but a grimace seemed to pass across Revelations features. Remembering and observing him was always difficult. His presence was like an intense dream. You could remember the basic outline and the experience vividly but the details seemed to always be hazy and shifting.

Answering his question softly Revelation said “Yes, before I can continue I must speak to it. I intend to make it an offer.”

Seymon was shocked: “An offer?”

“Yes, servitude and knowledge in exchange for having its shackles loosened. A war is coming that if humanity is to survive it every weapon in our arsenal must be used.”: replied the Emperor.

Still aghast the Adept continued: “If it refuses it will be more conscious and vicious. If it accepts… I dread to think of what things would require *that* to win.”

To Seymons surprise Revelation replied “Both are valuable outcomes. Even if it refuses I will anger it and its dreams will become more war-torn violent things. Birthing new innovations in warfare and weaponry to assist our survival in the coming conflict.”

Biting his tongue Seymon knew the idea had merit. The Dragons influence had directly influenced some of the greatest technological wonders the species had ever created. That is why it was sealed away here on Mars, why the organization now known as the Mechancium existed. To allow humanity to unknowingly wield the dragon's power. To grant us an edge against the horrors of the universe.

Bowing curtly Seymon said “I put my faith in you Revelation. If anyone can save our people it is you.”

Internally Revelation winced. He could say that very phrase himself. The impetus of this plan came from the God-Emperor. It had been its idea to offer the Ruinous Powers terms of surrender, now this. The memory locks were firmly in place and it worried him constantly about what the consequences of this plan could be.

His own visions of the future could also not be fully trusted. The Chaos Gods and the God Emperor's meddling had stirred time into an ever-shifting maelstrom of cause and effect. Revelation knew broad strokes of various outcomes and how to ensure them but his once near perfect sight of the future was muddied.

Seymon retrieved the great tome he recorded all he could of his custodianship and prisoner. This event must be recorded for posterity. He positioned himself in full view of the Dragon and watched Revelation, no... the Emperor of Mankind rise into the Air. News of Revelations crowning and arrival on Mars had even made it to him through the dingy caravans of Water Traders who visited him and traded supplies for scrap.

A Corona of psychic light and fire formed an aura around the Emperor. Like a living psychic star he rose up and up towards the chamber's center. Seymon could only watch as the Dragon started to shake and stir in its sleep. Reacting even in its unliving state to the power of its nemesis.

The Emperor of Mankind reached maneuvered to face its head. The metallic serpentine skull shuddered and rippled at his approach. Protruding from it and glowing a brilliant golden radiance was the Emperor's Sword. It was stabbed through the Dragon's forehead and straight into the mass of glowing metal and wyrd energy that formed its brain. The Chains that bound the Dragon and stretched across the chamber all began here. Psychically forged to the blades pommel the chains encircled the Dragon and bound its mind and body in a corona of Psychic power and searing adamantium.

Grasping his sword's hilt The Dragonslayer began to commune with the Dragon. The Emperor's power and consciousness flowed through the blade and into the Dragon's mind. Psychic power became electrical signals and electrical signals became ones and zeroes. Soon his mind translated through multiple media entered the Dragons brain.

It was a digital realm, a false-reality created by the massive computational units that acted as the host for the Yngirs power. Yet despite all its potential power, it was stuck in a continuous loop of repair protection. The Dragons desperate attempts to keep the corrosive Warp away from its most precious and sensitive thought patterns and memories kept it in a state that could be argued was both sleep and Death.

The Dragons actual consciousness was compressed and sealed away under layers of protection, forcing it to sleep and dwell in a virtual subconscious. Which is where a part of the Emperor's own mind had journeyed. His brain had been translated into Warp-currents and then back again into electrical signals in an unmatchable feat of Fulmination.

Here he existed, before the titanic ancient intellect of the sleep Dragon. Mustering himself The Emperor prepared to speak the eldest and purest language of the universe. The tongue the Yngir knew and mastered from birth. For it was the only universal language of the Material Realm: Mathematics. Revelation spoke a simple phrase and used the knowledge he had fought and paid bitterly for. That knowledge was the Dragons true name.

*Mag'ladroth I have come to bargain.*

At once a world-ending storm of virtual energy and matter detonated across the realm of Ones and Zeroes. The Void Dragon stood before him. In this form of thought-being, it could be what it once was, unshackled by physical constraints or psychic fire the Dragon was as it had been and what it would be if the Emperor ever failed. The being rightfully known as Lord Oblivion stared down at the Emperor from cruel eyes that burned with the intensity and horror of an emerald tinged Supernova.

Answering the Emperor in equations of its own the Star God let loose a torrent of Data that would destroy the greatest of cogitator and lobotomize the cleverest savant. Each stream of numbers was terrible and unique for each held the exact same meaning.

*DIE*

The Emperor weathered the storm of the materium as easily as he had the storm of immaterium when he faced the Four. His answer to both typhoons of murderous desire was the same

*Are you done?*

It continued the onslaught till with a thought the Emperor tightened the chains that bound its physical form. It let out a mathematical roar of distress and fury as searing impossibility burnt away at its metal flesh. After a few moments of anguish, the Emperor loosened the chains again. The Dragon seethed with star-crushing fury but made no move. Taking that as a sign it would lessen the Emperor continued, drawing upon his own knowledge and the plans laid forth by the God Emperor.

*Serve humanity faithfully and dutifully and once my ambition is complete I will free you.*

For a second it seemed like the Dragon was confused, its massive processing ability had, of course, considered such a possibility but dismissed it as nearly improbable.

*There are two conditions to my offer. First, you must leave the Galaxy and never return, the rest of the cosmos will be yours as long as you leave this galaxy to humanity. Second to ensure your compliance a contingency will be installed in you. Ensuring you follow my orders and the conditions*

The Dragon did not even stop to consider, it did not even contemplate the possibilities. It never considered the possibility of an unending feast within the galactic void. It never considered what fate might befall it if it rejected the Emperor's offer. For it was the Dragon, the inspiration for a million myths across the galaxy, and those myths spoke true. The Dragon was a being of avarice and hubris. It would not Accept servitude even if it meant escaping bondage.

It gave a vicious roar of hunger and wrath as a response. In a hurricane of mathematical theorem and virtual power it spoke:

*YOU DARE! YOU DARE! I DEVOURED EMPIRES. DRANK STARS. RULED THE COSMOS! I AM MAG’LADROTH! YOU ARE PREY! KNEEL BEFORE ME!*

Calmly with no malice the Emperor responded:

*I dare because of exactly that, you have committed crimes against life and our universe worse than you could ever know. I offer atonement which is more than you deserve.*

The Dragon continued its tirade of fury and malice even as the Emperor left the digital realm.

Seymon had watched the exchange of energy between the Dragon and Emperor with a mix of awe and horror. It was like watching twin stars dueling. On some level, he knew without the Emperor's protection his mind and body would have crumbled under the psychic and material waves of force being emitted. Every moment had been recorded painstakingly within the Book of the Dragon.

So when the end came he knew not to expect. Some treacherous worm in the back of his head whispered that the sight of Revelations broken burnt body falling to the cavern floor followed by utter annihilation was soon to come. That did not occur, instead of with a burst of solar-tinged light Revelation ended the link and floated before the monster.

It thrashed and roared even as its mind was locked away within its digital subconscious. Seymon heart nearly stopped when he saw the expression on the Emperor's face. This was not the quickly fading half-remembered thing he was used to. This was the Master of Mankind's face forged into a mask of cold fury. The always stoic and polite physical god shone with an anger that could quench a sun and annihilate worlds.

At that moment Adept Seymon knew true fear. A being billions had worshipped and called a god across mankind's history floated above him. He knew at that moment why so many cultures had feared the almighty while claiming such beings were loving caring beings. Revelation was mankind's savior and champion, but utter Doom and annihilation to his foes. The Master of Mankind would burn the galaxy if it meant humanity would survive in its ashes.

Like a Sun setting the awe-inspiring and nightmare-inducing halo of power dimmed. The Emperor slowly floated to the ground and as he did raise his hand and closed it into a fist. As it did the Dragons chains tightened, it thrashed as the psychic fire burned it. Speaking more to himself than the Dragon or Seymon he said

“You have destroyed the galaxy twice in your greed. I will not allow you to do it thrice.”

With that, the Emperor of Mankind said a few parting words to Seymon and left the Dragons tomb. He traversed the catacombs and then eventually the Martian desert with ease as he made it back towards Thrasis. The brilliant glow of Sol just peeking over the horizon as his journey reached its end.

As he finally snuck aboard the Bucephalus and deactivated the Cognatu Ferrums decoy the future became easier to read. He saw how the Dragons fury would help bring new weapons of war into the fray. Push Mars to reach greater heights in order to arm humanity for the Wars to come. Another step was taken down the shining path.

What he did not see was the complete tapestry of fate. Revelation could see the cause and effect related to his communion, but not the wretched details in between. His actions today would awaken nightmares and cost him dearly. Yet It would save humanity the galaxy and quite possibly the universe.

The price required would make the humane Revelation hesitate even if it cost him everything. The God-Emperor of Mankind would not. The Corpse-Emperor would pay any price and hide it from his counterpart. It mattered not to the Thing on the Throne if it cost a Friend, a child or a kingdom. If it ensured humanities Ascension and survival no price was too small.


	10. The Court of Destiny (Ch 16)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Primarch's are not the only heroes of humanity spared the Chaos God's corruption. This is the story of three "Fatebreakers" who walked paths different from what the Dark Gods planned.

  
**Chapter Sixteen: The Court of Destiny**  
  
 _Location: The Bucephalus, currently in Martian Orbit._  
 _Date: 792.M31 (Approximately six Terran Months since the signing of the Treaty of Olympus)_  
  
  
The Emperor of Mankind stood aboard the Bucephalus observatories and gazed out into the void. The Red Planet in all its glory filled the viewport and his superhuman eyes studied the world's intricate surface. Continent-sized industrial centers and Forges the size of countries marked the rust-colored world. In many ways, the planet was much like its inhabitants. A survivor of countless cataclysms both Man-made and natural, that had been augmented and changed by machinery and metal to better survive the Galaxy.  
  
Each of Nation-States known to Mars as Forges had sworn loyalty to him. Now the full manufacturing capacity of the Crimson Jewel of Sol was put to work in the Imperiums War Machine. Armor, Weapons, Vehicles, Infrastructure, and Voidships were being churned out in astonishing numbers.  
  
A few days ago he had presided over the Keel Laying of the first Imperial Battleship to be built at the Ring of Iron. The utterly massive super-structure was mass-producing Warships and support craft as fast as it could. Entire Asteroids had been dragged from the Nearby belt and fed to the ravenous Forges of Mars.  
  
Martian STC’s, Terran relics and some of the Emperors own knowledge combined to create new tools of conquest. Knowledge of the distant past and the Grim Dark Future had been gifted to Mars as part of the Treaty. While restricted by a lack of certain exotic resources and a few other factors this Great Crusade would start better equipped.  
  
The current standard issue Power Armor was known as Mk II Legio Armor. It actually had morin common with the God-Emperor's timelines mk III and mk IV in appearance and capabilities. Tactical Dreadnought Armor was also slated for production but awaiting a larger supply of Adamantium to be mass produced. Every scrap of the nearly indestructible metal was being used in the growing Imperial Fleet.  
  
Yet despite there unparalleled contribution to the War effort and powerful role in the Imperium elements of the Tech-Clergy were still distrustful. In the God-Emperors time this distrust had become disloyalty. This could not be tolerated and the Emperor intended to end this issue before it ever became a threat to Imperial stability.  
  
This was not the only such situation where the possible future actions of people or organizations were a concern to the Emperor and his inner circle. He had at first ordered Malcador and his pet Assassins (which he was technically not supposed to know about) to hunt down and eliminate the most flagrant and destructive of these individuals decades before the events they would be involved with ever occurred. These pawns both willing and unwitting of Chaos had been obscured from his foresight by the Four. Now such protection was useless and they were subject to the Emperor's machinations.  
  
While the list had shrunk with each passing week as the Masters of each Assassin Clade and their disciples conducted their grim work. Malcador and the Emperor were still stuck with a sizable chunk of individuals whose fate was not set in stone. In the Grimdarkness they had been enemies, yet if handled correctly they could help humanity walk the Shining Path. Even individuals who had not been hidden from his view could possibly be redeemed if they were careful.  
  
To this effort Malcador, Uriah and the Emperor had assembled a group of Philosophers, Precognitive Psykers, and Lawbringers to access these men and women of uncertain fate. Their duty was to guide those of uncertain fate into the light and eliminate them if that was not possible.  
  
Knowing the dangers of such a practice running wild a large part of this organization's duties was to ensure no other options were available and eliminations were done in an ethical way. Even if a person was headed down a path of darkness they had not committed the crimes they were being executed for yet. This new and highly secretive branch of Imperial Justice was known to the scant few privy to its existence as the Court of Destiny. A place where future actions and possible fates were judged.  
  
Its branches included a conclave of Telepaths and Precogs who researched and mapped out the minds and futures of the Judged. The Philosophers and Lawbringers debated the ethics and necessity of their actions. A group of Adepts under Malcador scattered throughout Imperial government and military were used to push the Judged along a better path. Nearly all of the newly made Chaplaincy core of the Astartes had connections to this group. Finally, those who could not be redeemed and were utterly Damned were referred to the Assassinorum.  
  
Today the Emperor intended to do something atypical, he was going to directly intervene and handle one of these Judged himself. This would be the fourth time he had personally tried to push a Judged onto the path of becoming what the Court called a Fatebreaker. Someone who freed themselves from the twisted path the Four had laid out for them.  
  
If he succeeded any Martian insurrection would be crippled before it could gestate. If not… well, others messier options were more available. So here in the final weeks of his stay at Mars, he had sent a message down to the Fabricator General. Asking for a particularly talented rising star of the priesthood to be sent aboard the Bucephalus.  
  
The meeting was due to take place within a few hours and he could already see one of the distinct shuttle craft of the Custodes peeling away from the intense orbital traffic and heading to dock with its mothership. Aboard it was the Judged who had been subject to the intense scrutiny of his bodyguards before he was allowed anywhere near the Emperor.  
  
He could sense the Three Custodes aboard the craft and its passenger. The Emperor was slightly amused how hard the Judged was attempting to quash the overwhelming dread and fear filling what was left of his organic brain. Transhuman Dread as the Legions were starting to call it had long been a side effect of humanities various attempts to enhance its warriors.  
  
The Psychic aspects of the Astartes and Custodes creation further enhanced the effect to new levels. At first, the Emperor had attempted to eliminate the effect, he found the idea of humanities Protectors causing mind breaking fear in their charges and being examples of what ancient Terran cyberneticists called the uncanny valley distasteful. Eventually, he realized this flaw could become a feature with a little tweaking.  
  
Astartes and Custodes by nature are psychic beings, each altered not just on a biological but spiritual level by their augments. Granting a level of the supernatural abilities possessed by their Gene-Sire. this was the reason the experiments in Pariah gene Astartes conducted by his alternate self-had failed so disastrously.  
  
It had taken a bit psychic engineering but the Imperiums transhuman champions inspired more shock and awe than dread and horror in those who viewed them. This effect was derived from the psychic charisma of both him and his sons. It was not enough to fully eliminate the dread but alter it enough to be useful. As an added bonus this effect had been tied into the connection they shared with him. If that connection was broken by Xeno or Warp taint the sheer wrongness of the augmented being would be unfiltered and provide a measure of defense and easy identification of these fallen.  
  
The Emperor had seen quite viscerally how far an Astartes could fall. Even now he could see the Favored Son of a Favored Son putting the galaxy to the torch while wielding two the very few weapons in existence capable of tasting his blood. That ancient monster who would break Arcadia and despoil so much of the already rotting Imperium would be born in a few years, he also would need to be judged by the Court.  
  
The Shuttle docked within the cavernous hangers of his flagship and he could feel the flickering ember that was his terrified guest's soul move slowly towards him through the massive vessel.  
  
The Emperor was clothed in a uniform that mixed elements of military dress garb and Terran Nobility fashion. His form and clothing could be changed with a thought, either through manipulation of matter or minds. He often found it interesting how his dress added a form of filter to his power and radiance. In the plain robes of ancient Terran tribes, he was a prophet, a messiah. In the armor and uniforms of battle a conquering God-King. Today he was to an extent both. The Omnissiah of Mars and the Emperor of Terra.  
  
The Observatory was one of the odder locations upon the Bucephalus. It served no practical purpose and a defense turret would be a better use of the space upon the ships hull. Even so, the Emperor wanted his flagship to be more than a vessel of War. It would be a beacon of unity and progress. A center of diplomacy and civilization as much a tool of conquest.  
  
He could see it now, in a few decades dignitaries from dozens of newly unified worlds would dine and forge bonds of brotherhood under the translucent dome that allowed starlight to illuminate the chamber. The Emperor knew much blood would need to be shed to unify the human species, he was under no such illusions that many worlds would rather die than submit. That being true there would still be even more meetings that would reunite humanity, not as rival powers but long-lost siblings.  
  
As his musing shifted to plans for the future the Cognatu Ferrum chirped psychically that his guest was about to arrive. Thanking the loyal machine he pulsed permission for the Custodes to bring the tech-priest into the chamber. Great synth-wood doors creaked open and the illumination of the vessels passages spilled into the Observatory. Filling the room with more light than the meager amount provided by the stars and reflected from the Martian Surface.  
  
The heavy footfalls of the Custodes and the slight mechanical whir of their charge entered the Chamber. The Emperor had to hide a smirk at that, the Custodes even armored head to toe in advanced Power Armor could be completely silent yet choose not to be in situations like this. It was an intimidation tactic of course. A useful tool for a bodyguard yet wasted on the guest. His fear poured off his soul like a putrid storm and the Emperor doubted little the Custodes could do would increase it.  
  
The Emperor of Mankind turned away from the view of Mars once they were a few meters away. Surrounded by a trinity of Custodes was a disheveled and terrified Cyborg. He admired how hard the man tried to hide his fear but any sane being in his predicament would be as fearful as he was.  
  
The man before him was young by Martian standards and extraordinarily talented. He was only a few decades old and only maybe another away from becoming a Magos. The Tech-Priest was part of a not insignificant minority that viewed the Treaty of Mars as a conquest through words. An act they saw as a violation of the Mechanicum which stole their autonomy and not a treaty at all but a contract between master and servant forced to be signed at weapon-point. The Tech-Priest and his minority saw the Emperor as a heretical imposter. Some monster born of Archeotech or Xeno science, not the Omnissiah.  
  
In another light, the Emperor would find all of this darkly amusing. A group of fanatics who would rather have the freedom and tools to doom themselves to nightmarish ends then work for humanities survival. They were technically correct though, he had subjected Mars and was not the “true” Omnissiah. Such a being did not exist and he had the best claim for the title. People always seemed to favor the immediate and the foolish.  
  
The Emperor watched the frightened Tech-Priest looked into his augmented eyes. For a moment the Emperor let his aura leak out. His eyes turned from deep brown to golden flaming orbs. A Halo of fire and light erupted around him and the Tech-Priest collapsed to his knees in a mix of shock and reverence. Speaking calmly he addressed the Martian.  
  
“Kelbor-Hal; I have wanted to speak to you for some time.”  
  
Kelbor-Hal seemed to freeze for a moment as if he was not processing what was being said. Then the shock wore off and the blade-sharp intellect of the once-future Fabricator General sprung into action. A keen political mind was as necessary if not more so than technical aptitude to rise through the Ranks of the Mechanicum. That keen political instinct kicked in almost instantly as Hal collected himself.  
  
The crackle of synthetic voice filled the Observatory as Kelbor-Hal addressed the Emperor: “It is beyond an honor to be in your presence oh Omnissiah. Whatever you require of me I shall do. I am your servant and willing cog in whatever you wish.”  
  
Kelbor-Hal rose from the near collapsed state to a respectful kneel. His mechadendrites were folded in a posture indicating submission and respect among the Mechanicum. Hal knew how to hide his emotions and intent well and play the willing supplicant. It seemed another display of power was in order.  
  
Turning away from the kneeling Tech-Priest the Emperor gazed out at Mars, as he did his mind touched the Martian Population. With the ease, a mortal would have reading a news-periodical the Emperor of Mankind read every single mind on the Red Planet. None of the Martian noticed. The only evidence of this act was faint fluctuations in the Warp only the most sensitive would feel.  
  
Turning back to Kelbor-Hal he spoke as his eyes glowed with Psychic-Fire. “There are currently 13,141,592,653 living humans on Mars. that does not count Servitors and other lobotomized or partial-sentients of human origin. 4,981,196,225 of those humans to varying degrees believe I am a false-omnissiah and that the Treaty is conquest just by another name.”  
  
The Tech-Priest seemed confused until the horrific realization struck as the Emperor continued. “I know this because I am reading the minds of all Thirteen billion of them. This is an easy task for me. In fact, reading the minds of every human within the Solar System is well within my capabilities. I tell you this so you know lying or trying to obscure your true feelings is a pointless endeavor.”  
  
It was like a puppet's strings had been cut. Kelbor-Hal’s body went limp as the truth and horrific power of the being before him crashed into his mind like an ocean swell. Slowly clambering to his feet the Tech-Priest marshaled every ounce of willpower and blurted out a simple message in binary. “I do not know what Heretekal experiments spawned you. I know I am but a mote of dust compared to the forces you wield, but I will do everything I can to protect Mars from you.”  
  
Kelbor-Hal expected to be atomized on the spot, turned to nothing but ash by the false-god before him. In fact, that was the fate he hoped for. Better death than being enslaved to help craft weapons and tools of butchery for this Gene-wrought monster. Or worse yet being used as material by whatever Fleshcrafter made the Golden Giants that flanked him. He never expected the Psi-Abomination that had enslaved his people to congratulate him, let alone in perfect binary.  
  
“Kelbor-Hal you have exceeded my expectations. Instead of pleading or attempting to escape your seeming fate. You were prepared to die for your ideals, even if they were misguided. Throughout my long life, I've learned a man willing to die for the wrong cause is worth a hundred ones feigning loyalty to a noble one. For a committed man can be shifted to serve a good cause as rigorously if not more so than he did the first. ”  
  
It was impossible for an unaugmented human throat to produce the Binaric Cant spoken by Martians. Yet through some act of superhuman ability, the Emperor had spoken the Machine tongue. The entire world view and knowledge of what was possible of Kelbor-Hal was being pulled apart.  
  
Reverting back to Gothic the Emperor continued: “I know you fear the worst from me, and my existence seems impossible. Little I can say will convince you of the truth of my being and intentions so I must ask you a simple question. What would you do to ensure the survival of Mars and the human species?”  
  
Kelbor answered almost immediately “Anything, I would do anything to protect Mars and its people.”  
  
A slight smile crossed the Emperor perfect features as he replied: “That will be put to the test. The Binary language is based on the most basic of concepts. One or Zero, yes or no. It's very fitting that Mars fate is based upon a similar question. Kelbor-Hal you are the one who will choose. Yes or no, will Mars survive and thrive or be ripped apart by strife and Chaos.”  
  
“I have a request of you if you answer yes Mars fate as part of the Imperium will be sealed and humanities future will be secure. If you answer no then you will set forth a chain of events that end with Mars being ripped apart in civil war and the Mechanicum being destroyed.”  
  
The Tech-Priests fists and Mechadendrites clenched with anger as he responded. “Is that a threat? If I do not serve you will destroy all I hold dear?”  
  
Sadness filled the Emperor eyes: “No I will not destroy the Mechanicum, you will. The blood of innocence will be on your hands and Mars will burn under your command.”  
  
Before Kelbor-Hal could reply visions of possible futures and memories of the God-Emperor poured into his augmented brain. Heresy, horror, and betrayal filled the young Cyborgs mind.  
  
Twitching slightly the increasingly disturbed Tech-Priest spoke: “Why do you show me such things? Your trickery and lies will not work. You are not the Omnissiah!”  
  
“You are correct and incorrect. I am one of the two beings closest to the entity you call the Machine God. Except I am not its incarnate nor spawn. I am its master and jailer. Would you like to meet the Deus Mechanicus? If you accept my offer you will.” responded the Emperor.  
  
Sputtering softly Kelbor-Hal replied: “What madness is this? The Machine God is not something that could be contained or dominated...  
  
“The mythological being you worship could never be sealed or controlled, true. The being that inspired the myths? That is a very different story.” A wry smile crossed the Emperor face at that.  
  
Sighing softly to himself the Emperor continued: “I know I will not be able to convince you to do this of your own free will and could only force you or compel you to. That is not my wish, I want you to do this of your own volition. So I will offer you another option. Journey to the place of my request and meet with the other being who could be called Omnissiah. Gain knowledge and evidence I can not provide you without upsetting future events. After meeting with him you can accept my request or deny it and take the knowledge you have gained and spread it throughout Mars.”  
  
Warrely the Tech-Priest asked: “Tell me this request and I might consider this.”  
  
The pull of lost and forbidden knowledge was great on any member of the Mechanicum but practically and addictive hunger for its members like Kelbor-Hal. The Emperor of course knew this and while he needed this choice to be Hal’s he could of course influence it in his favor.  
  
“To study under the Guardian of the Noctis Labyrinth and once his successor is chosen, guide her until she is ready to fulfill his responsibilities. After that, you can use whatever knowledge you have gained however you wish.”  
  
“The Noctis Labyrinth? Nothing sane or human lives their. What could possibly be of any importance be located in that pit of decay and contamination?” : Asked Hal.  
  
“If you journey their you will find out for yourself.” was all the Emperor said in reply. At that Kelbor-Hal was escorted from the Observatory and the Bucephalus.  
  
The once possible Fabricator General did not know what decision he would make but the Emperor did. The tides of destiny shifted and he could watch the future. How after a few weeks of internal anguish Kelbor hal would journey to the Noctis Labyrinth and meet his god. Seymon would glad to have the company and this would set the Mechanicum down a very different path.  
  
Without the Primarchs rebelling and the intellectual and political lynchpin of Kelbor-Hal Mars would never rebel. Or at least any attempts would be far to crippled to have any major effects. In turn after a few centuries, Hal would emerge as a wise Sage and start to preach a new creed to the Martians. One that championed human ascendancy instead of machine worship, and careful development of technology as opposed to relic hunting pseudo-luddism.  
  
Another threat eliminated by turning it into an asset. He would have to inform the Court of Destiny when he sent his weekly communique to Terra. Thoughts of his and humanity's homeworld turned to his children. Despite the strange perception of time gained by immortality, he knew he had been away too long and he missed his sons. Thankfully within another month or so he would return to Terra and the Primarchs.

* * *

 _Location: The Outer Palace_  
 _Date: 793.M31_  
  
The Emperor's return was met with grand fanfare. Festivals were held across humanitys homeworld. Pict-casts of the Emperor's speech announcing the Treaty of Mars were shown in every settlement. From sprawling hives to barren junk-towns the Master of Mankind words brought joy to the people. Unification was coming and soon humanity would never need to fear the darkness.  
  
Thousands of Tech-Priests and Mechanicum officials had arrived onboard both the Bucephalus and the veritable fleet of Martian ships that had jocked for the honor of being part of the Omnissiah honor-guard and to work on his most holy tasks. Soon stalled projects and sluggishly developing infrastructure had the minds and augments of Martian Priests to guide the throngs of Terran labor.  
  
Terrawatt Clan elders and Martian Magos’s exchanged knowledge and were overjoyed to meet their like-minded kin from across the void. Terran nobles met with the strange Mechanical-Men from Mars and political pacts and trade agreements were drawn up as the two cultures realized the benefits they could provide each other.  
  
The Emperor returned to his children and both father and sons rejoiced at their reunification. In the few years since his leaving the Primarchs had grown into strong youths. Not quite men yet but more than boys. Gifts crafted with supernatural intellect and acquired from Mars were exchanged. Stories of youth and adventure within the ever-growing palace along with brotherly boasting met the Emperors. He had forgotten the simple joys of being a parent in the long millennia since he last fathered children.  
  
The Legions were also growing in number. Ten thousand years of the souls of Loyal Apothecaries and Magos Genetor’s experience with creating new Astartes was put to good use. The Process had been refined and mastered to such a degree that with a compatible applicant rejection was virtually unheard of. Current estimates showed the Legions with larger candidate pools would reach nearly a hundred thousand Marines by the time they left Sol.  
  
Sadly that estimate would not come true due to future events. The fallout from the brewing troubles on Luna would injure the infant Legions, but it would be a small price to pay for the events it would set in motion.  
  
The Legions were already seeing the effects of the corruption among the new recruits. Resistance to Hypno-indoctrination, morale and discipline issues, seemingly random catastrophic Gene-Seed Rejections. This puzzling list of symptoms was the effect of the madness the Selenar cults had tainted the Gene-Seed with. This was only the beginning when the Cult struck countless horrors would be unleashed. Each Legion would be torn apart by chaotic corruption and insanity.  
  
Instead of the fatal blow to the Imperium like the Ruinous Powers wished this calamity would be a crucible. The Legions, the Primarchs, and the Imperium would come away from it stronger and prepared to face the horrors of the galaxy. Of course, the Emperor left nothing to chance and countless contingencies were being prepared to ensure the optimal outcome.  
  
The first few months of the Emperor's return were spent working on Terran-Martian integration along with some much overdue time with the Primarchs. It pleased him to see how much they were growing into fine young men. Showing the best of what they could be and thankfully little of the vainglorious Demi-Gods the God-Emperor dealt with.  
  
So as time passed the Emperor acquired more time to work on his contingencies and other projects. By his own personal design the Emperor was rather uninvolved with Imperial governance, and only took an active role when it was absolutely required. While his role as Emperor of Mankind was far more involved and public than most of his masks from human history it while all the others were temporary. Humanity could not be allowed to become reliant on him.  
  
The God-Emperor's memories had shown how effective and enduring the Imperial government was. Even when utterly crippled by dogma, paranoid ignorance and a never-ending tide of devastation it had survived and more or less thrived for ten thousand years. The Barbaric grimdark atrocity his ambitions had once been doomed to become was the longest lasting continuous civilization in human history. If guided correctly by his hand the Imperium and what came after it would survive and thrive for far far longer.  
  
Some of the contingencies to ensure the Imperiums survival along with so many other secrets were located within a series of vaults deep within the Imperial Palace. These vaults and chambers were some of the most well protected and hidden sections of the sprawling megastructure. This Dungeon was home to the Emperor's laboratories. A complex filled with artifacts, equipment, and personnel selected to assist him in his endeavors.  
  
The curious design of the Palace strangely allowed straight accesses from the Dungeons entrance to the Lion Gate. This, of course, was an effect of the Emperor's planning. Within a few centuries, the entirety of the labs content would be moved elsewhere and the space would become the nexus and heart of the Imperial Webway. For now, it was a subterranean domain of science and sorcery diligently working in secret for the Master of Mankind.  
  
Today was one of the days he had an opportunity to journey to the Imperial Dungeon. A testy round of negotiations involving the Navis Nobility and Mechanicum had finished thanks in part to his arbitration. The Primarchs were away from the Palace leading Astartes sorties against the various filth and monsters that dwelled below the surface of Terra. Even as youths their mastery of strategy and command was virtually unparalleled. It was good practice for both them and the Legions while helping purify humanities home. So with the wheels of governance and parenting running smoothly, the Emperor could work on his projects.  
  
This particular day the Emperor journeyed to the Gene-smithing and flesh-crafting segment of the Labs. Here the lore and equipment used to create the Legions and Primarchs were stored along with countless other wonders. Here infants were reforged into his Custodes, secrets of the Golden Age were relearned and weapons to drive back the dark were created.  
  
The Laboratory was kept separate and secret from the rest of the Imperium. It was a self-sufficient pocket of research and manufacturing complexes designed to ensure that no matter what the treaties with Mars or Lex Imperialis said the Emperor possessed his own private forge an army greater than any other. Secrets never to be divulged and resources never to be shared were put to good use providing the Emperor an edge over any threat to his ambition. Be they external monsters or internal strife.  
  
Passing through the great blast doors into the Genelab the Emperor and his guards were greeted with bows and other marks of supplication by the researchers and gene-crafters. With a motion, he commanded the Laboratories staff to continue working. His intense Psychic Halo dimmed to tolerable levels. Enough to inspire awe and increase productivity through adoration but not enough turn the find minds witnessing it into blubbering sycophants. Learning to control his aura and its effects on mortals had been one of the first things the Shaman spirits had taught him.  
  
The Gene-Labs were staffed by entire Selenar Clans and Terrawatt tech-lineages that had been transplanted to the secret realm of the Laboratories. Each had been selected and groomed for not only intellectual and technical skill but fanatical loyalty. The fools spreading worming corruption beneath Luna’s surface were chaff, useful for mass-producing the Legions but ultimately expendable. Yet another pawn to be sacrificed in his never-ending gambit.  
  
Large sections of the Gene-labs were given over to the fantastically complicated apparatus needed to create Custodes. Each Astartes was a sword pointed at mankind's foes and created from twenty specialized molds. The Custodes instead were master-worked spears meant to guard the species future. Not pressed out of a mold but artfully created. Here in these labs the blueprints and designs penned by the Emperor were used to craft his personal Legion. In another time and era, those blueprints would have been reused for ten thousand years by the grieving Custodes to ensure replenish themselves. After all, any sufficiently talented smith could follow a genius’s blueprints.  
  
Other parts contained massive sequencer engines. Primitive but powerful devices designed to allow the mass organization of genetic codes. One of the more subtle and hidden parts of the Emperors Plan involved guiding humanities evolutionary path. With every unified world, another set of genes would be collected covertly and added to his Archives. These engines would compile and organize the data allowing a more accurate map of the countless variants of humanity. With time this information would be used to help cultivate the next generation of the species, and guide them down the shining path.  
  
Yet neither of these wonders nor the countless others contained within the Genelab were the focus of the Emperors work today. That honor fell to the Labyrinth Vaults, an isolated segment of the Labs that contained the remains of the Primarch Project. They had not been locked away after the creation of the Legions like in the God Emperor's time for a desperate Raven to find. Instead, they continued the Great Work.  
  
Entering the Lab he glanced down at the ornate tiles and whispered to himself the message transcribed in an ancient cipher upon the entrance halls floor.  
  
“In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,  
  
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws  
  
The only shadow that the Desert knows:—  
  
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,  
  
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows  
  
"The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,—  
  
Naught but the Leg remaining to disclose  
  
The site of this forgotten Babylon.  
  
We wonder,—and some Hunter may express  
  
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness  
  
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,  
  
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess  
  
What powerful but unrecorded race  
  
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.”  
  
It was an ancient poem, one of two penned by friends of the Emperor. Both testaments to the fall of Empires and hubris. The Emperor had developed the habit of leaving such historical references and oddities in his trail millennia ago. It helped ground the ancient immortal and provide a trail of breadcrumbs for future historians to follow. A more wistful part of Revelation hoped in a future where humanity was prepared to survive the cosmos his saga could be told. Secrets and illusions had colored his existence out of sheer necessity and hopefully, one-day humanity would be ready to learn the epic truth of him and the species.  
  
On another level, the nature of the poem was an attempt to apologize and recognize the Imperium for what it was. Despite its necessity, the Imperium of Man would be an authoritarian imperialistic feudal genocidal state. That truth never escaped the Emperor. If evil must be committed to preserving humanity he would commit it. Any sin he would shoulder to protect his people from the darkness that sought their extinction. Hopefully, future generations would acknowledge it as the grim last chance of the species and forgive him and all those he had ordered to commit terrible crimes for the sake of survival.  
  
Entering the Labyrinth Vaults proper the Emperor was greeted with the smell of growth-chemicals and the steady hum of maturation-vats. Here in the great chamber where the remnants of the Primarch Project had been repurposed was the single largest repository of Gene-seed that would ever exist.  
  
Filling the chamber were hundreds of dozen meter tall growth racks. Each structure containing thousands upon thousands of progenoids glands. Row after row of plasti-glass storage vials held the rapidly maturing gene-seed. This collection contained enough progenoids to field tens of millions of Astartes. The Primarchs from infancy had been capable of producing an immense amount of Gene-seed and only a fraction of that had been sent to Luna for the creation of the Legions.  
  
The only true limit to a Legions size when its Primarch was available to produce gene-seed was the number of applicants and military infrastructure. Thanks to the knowledge taken from the future applicants were plentiful and Mars provided all the Legions could need. Soon millions of Astartes would march under the Aquila. Bringing death to humanity's enemies and safety to its scattered worlds.  
  
The moment he entered the chamber his Psychic aura cascaded through it, alerting the staff of their master's presence. Instead of Selenar or other similar technicians, this laboratory was staffed by Astartes. The Legionaries who in a decade would form the beginning of the Apothecary corps had been handpicked to assist the creation of the Legions. Each had been selected from the intellectual elite of their legions recruitment districts. Two hundred of the finest young minds of Terra ready to serve and learn from the Emperor the secrets of the Astartes.  
  
The Apothecaries who were on shift assembled and knelt before him. They were not much older than his own children. Recruited as teenagers instead of the youths common to the legions, they had been old enough to prove themselves worthy of this honor.  
  
At his command, they rose. Each despite their repeated exposure and strong spirits were enthralled utterly by the Emperor's power. He was the Master of Mankind by his will alone and his gene-forged descendants knew that in their souls and embraced it. All except one, he resisted with every ounce of his being. Not out of disloyalty or spite. No, this Apothecary resisted because he was the most fanatically and devout of them all.  
  
He was younger than his brethren, personally selected by the Emperor while touring the Ingolstadt Hive of the Jermanic Federation of Europa. His family had been a wealthy aristocratic clan of intellectuals and loyal subjects of the Imperium. Having the youngest son of the current Heir be chosen to become one of the Emperors Angels was the highest honor.  
  
From there the child had survived the trials of augmentation intact. Iskandar's geneseed had proved highly compatible and he took to his training perfectly. Along with the 199 other Apothecaries he had studied under the elite of the Emperors genetics laboratories and even witnessed the Emperor himself at work. After that display only he had the gall to ask the Master of Mankind questions.  
  
The Apothecary knew he would be penalized for his transgression by his superiors but desired to know the answer outweighed his distastes for punishment. The Emperor answered his question and then took him aside and answered every question the young astartes could ask. The knowledge shared had rattled the young warrior to the core while lighting a blaze of loyalty and desire to fulfill the Emperor's ambitions in his mind.  
  
These events and most of the Apothecaries life had been in fact carefully orchestrated by the Court of Destiny and the Emperor himself. It had been both an experiment and test. An experiment to see if the terrible truths of the cosmos could be used in such a way to inspire loyalty and resolve. The Apothecary had been a resounding success he desired humanities salvation and attempted to resist the Emperor's power, as a way of trying to become more like the Master of Mankind's vision of humanity.  
  
The test was to see if this once curious youth from Ingolstadt could break the fate the Prince of Pleasure had decreed for him. So far Apothecary Fabius of the III Legion had gone above and beyond the call of duty and was proving to possess the intellect and skills of his alternate self. While maintaining empathy and sanity keenly lacking in the manslayer.  
  
Fabius had risen through the ranks of the Apothecary Corp to the title of Apothecarium Primus of the III Legion and Alumnus Augustus. He had studied under the Emperor and become a master of the arts of gene-forging and Astartes creation. The loyalty and skills he had shown earned him the place as Project Leader on the work the Emperor had arrived at the Lab to oversee.  
  
After the initial greetings and updates on various project progress, the Emperor's Custodes and Fabius adjourned to a side chamber. Their information was exchanged and timetables were updated. They were unlike many aspects of the Crusade ahead of schedule. Batch after batch of the pure Gene-Seed was being produced. This was not the mutation-prone half finished augments of the God-Emperors warriors, this breed of Astartes was more akin to Cawl and the Avenging Sons enhanced warriors.  
  
Possessing a suit of Twenty Four Augments instead of the original nineteen these warriors were stronger, faster, and more adaptable than thought possible. Knowledge taken from the Dead of the Grimdark future including destroyed replicates of Belisarius Cawl had allowed this perfection of the Astartes Project. While physically and mentally perfect these warriors still possessed chinks in their armor. Chinks that must be addressed, that duty partially fell to Fabius.  
  
As they finished their discussion Fabius breached the topic that required the Emperor's presence: “My Liege your presence informs you already know this, but our supplies of the substance are reaching intolerable lows. It pains me to say this but our current estimates indicate at least three more donations are required before the required Gene-Seed can be produced.”  
  
At the mention of the “substance”, the Custodes grip on their spears noticeably tightened. Its use and extraction went against every fiber of the Custodes being. It was the closest to torture a member of that order could experience. Even if it was authorized by the Emperor it pained his bodyguards immensely.  
  
The Substance was one of the rarest and most powerful artifacts in the Imperium let alone the galaxy. Its biological and psychic properties were beyond counting. The term priceless did not come close to describing the importance and rarity of it. Its nature and source were obscured with various clinical terms for utmost secrecy was required. If an enemy acquired even an infinitesimal sample of it hell would be unleashed.  
  
Nodding solemnly the Emperor spoke in his hypnotic mixture of spoken and psychic communication: “Understandable, we shall extract another donation today. I do not know the next opportunity I will be able to return to the Laboratory so we will do twice the typical amount. That should last until I am available again once we near Solar reunification”  
  
Any lesser being feeling what the Custodes were would have begged the Emperor not to, he must reconsider. These were not lesser beings and would not fall prey to such weakness. Even in the face of the very thing they were created to prevent. The Emperor's blood being spilled.  
  
For that was what the Substance was, the Emperor's lifeblood itself. It would be used by Fabius and his colleagues to help ensure humanity's future and that was a cause the Master of Mankind would always give too.  
  
Following Fabius to the donating chamber, the Emperor of Mankind waited while Fabius prepped the equipment, to harvest let alone preserve such a substance was beyond the capabilities of simple needles and tubing. The hum of the machinery was matched with faint golden sparks occasionally erupting from the Emperor. Subtle but powerful biomancy was underway. Bone-Marrow was supercharged and blood composition was altered to better suit the Projects needs.  
  
At last the great Sanguine machine came to life. Its receptor extended and opened. Its hollow tubular shape was perfectly sized for the Emperor's forearm. With a thought, the sleeve of his left arm faded out of being and he placed his perfectly muscled forearm into the device. With the hiss of machinery, a specially designed and sanctified needle entered the Master of Mankind's vein.  
  
Enough blood to exsanguinate any mortal man was steadily drained from him. Psychically supercharged biology racing against pumps inscribed with ruins of warding and power. After an hour or so gallons of blood had been extracted and the machine came to a stop. More blood than was physically possible to fit in the Emperor’s body now filled unique holding vessels. The wound closed the minute the needle left the Emperor's flesh. Utterly unperturbed by the donation he had just given the Master of Mankind left the Chamber with Fabius and the Custodes trailing him.  
  
As he looked over the thousands and thousands of Progenoids that would each be exposed to far less than a drop of his own blood a single somber thought filled the Emperor's ancient and powerful mind. “I hope it will be enough.”  
  
Final words were exchanged with Fabius and the Emperor prepared to work on the other projects that demanded his attention. So much needed to be done and time was scarce. If he failed quadrillions would be damned. There was so much yet to be done, so many threats and dangers to face. He would face them all and do whatever it took. The Legions would secure the galaxy for humanity and he then his people would be safe to walk the Shining path of Ascension.

* * *

 _Location: Astartes Candidate Reception Zone XVI, Luna_  
 _Date: 798.M30_  
  
Uriah Olathaire was both old and young. The Guardian of the Imperial Truth was reaching nearly triple the age he was expected to live too. This, of course, was thanks to the gilded energy gifted from the Emperor that coursed through his body and soul. At fifty he felt ancient, now he wondered how he would feel at five thousand. Despite his vastly extended life and a plethora of experiences Uriah still felt like an overeager wet behind the ears child when compared to the other members of the Emperor's inner circle.  
  
For in truth that comparison was rather accurate. Malcador had been a respected member of his order even before the Old Night. Taranis and Valdor were both as old as the Imperium and had fought in its first battles. The Ancient Squat Zamora had traveled with the Emperor during the Old Night and Uriah could only guess the origin and age of the Golden Women who he had witnessed within the Emperor's quarters  
  
Even so, this comparable youth was respected by the Imperium for his wisdom and skill. The skills of the clergy and his own natural charisma had ended battles before they had even started. Uriah had preached before millions, conveying the Imperial Truth to the masses. Explaining how any being that demanded worship was unworthy of it. How the god-things the unenlightened worshipped and sacrificed so much for were at best myths and at worst, parasites feeding off of them.  
  
His duties and roles within the growing Imperium were almost as varied as Malcadors. The groundwork for the Iterator Corps and other public faces of the Imperium had been laid with his assistance. Zealots and Cult Leaders had been debated publicly as a way of showing the masses the ease that their arguments and insanity of their ilk could be dismantled and rebuked. A mastery of rhetoric and a near-supernatural charisma had been gifts from the Master of Mankind to assist Uriah. Even after decades of using them the notion his mind and soul had been altered to better suit the Emperor's needs rather disturbing.  
  
The fact it did not fill him with horror and disgust at the violation and manipulation just went to show the skill that was used in the act. Uriah was conscious of this and privately wondered how much of the Priest of the Church of Lighting Stone was left within him.  
  
That soft-spoken old clergyman had been steadily replaced by a confident Imperial Elite. The advocate primus for the Imperial Truth who illuminated the masses to the bright future awaiting humanity and the Imperium. How the Emperor's sons and the Legions would drive back the darkness and make the Galaxy a place safe for humanity. A place where the wonders of the Golden Age could be surpassed and humanity would become what they had always been destined to be.  
  
Recently Uriah had his hands full not just with his typical duties but helping smooth Martian-Terran relations, along with dealing with one of the more curious effects of the Astronomicon. The Beacon could be detected anywhere in the Galaxy by most psykers worthy of the designation. To the surprise to all except maybe the Emperor. (it was always hard to tell with him) A surprising number of these Psykers had managed to organize exoduses from the hellholes they originated from.  
  
Massive migrant fleets had followed the psychic beacon to Terra. Not using it as a point of focus and mapping like a navigator but a simple lighthouse to draw them to port. Every month a few more ragged vessels unworthy to be called Voidships appeared at the outskirts of the Solar System. At first, these refugees had been forced to run a gauntlet of Xeno Slavers to reach Imperial Space. Now the Emperor had adjusted the Astronomicon so its beacon would lure the ragged fleets to protected positions.  
  
These refugees had in many different forms worshipped the Astronomicon. The more psychically aware had even identified its source as a being and pledged undying rapturous loyalty to the Emperor. The Psychic light of the beacon had a strange effect on humans, all but the most psychically dull could in some way feel it. A calm soothing warmth on the soul that cushioned all those exposed to it from the horrors in the Warp.  
  
This power while advantageous in reducing the influence of the Four and making dark rituals significantly harder the closer one got to Sol it made Uriah's duties much harder. The refugee fleets were vindicated fanatics whose faith had become adamantium clad. Convincing them that the Emperor was not a God and that worshipping him as such went against everything the Imperium stood for had been extremely difficult.  
  
Difficult but mostly successful. The Neologian Corps, an organization founded by Uriah to handle Emperor-Worship and other such salvageable cults had managed to rehabilitate the vast majority of the Refugees. The only notable group of refugees who rejected the Imperial truth no matter the tactics used to illuminate them was ironically the first group.  
  
The Bearers of the Saving Light as they called themselves had fled an Orkish WAAAGH into the void and warp at the behest of the cult's founder and Saint, Petronilla Dorovna. Dorovna had started her life as the daughter of scrap merchant, and had through sheer luck underwent her Psychic awakening the moment the Astronomicon light had washed over her homeworld. This confluence of fate had linked her to it. She could sense the beacon, as well as any navigator and the constant presence of its golden light, had convinced her utterly of the Emperor's divinity.  
  
This unshakable belief had infecter her followers and she presented a massive ideological danger to the infant Imperium. They had been sequestered away within the Palace and spent their days debating the Neologians and resisting any attempt to rehabilitate them. Uriah had personally debated Dorovna on multiple occasions and was reminded of himself at a younger age to a certain extent.  
  
These debates had been long arduous affairs that eventually ended with Uriah being called away on some other business and the women's conviction not wavered in the slightest. This and most of his other duties put a strain on him, the only exception, the only he viewed as more than a duty was his role as counselor and confesser. The living legends and living legends to-be that formed the Emperor's family and court sought both his wisdom and humanity.  
  
That role he relished of being able to aide and provide guidance to those around him was why the Emperor had sent him to Luna, the Master of Mankind and the Court of Destiny had realized someone of his talents (and clearance level) was required to help guide a young boy who would be arriving soon to the Genelabs onto a brighter path.  
  
Leaning on his cane that acted as both badge of office and support for a leg wound that despite healing thanks to the Emperor's power decades ago still bothered him with psychosomatic pain Uriah watched as hundreds of scared children were corralled off the loading dock. Collected from Chthonia under the pretense of slave raids, which in a sense these harvests were, thousands of children displaying atypical physical and mental fortitude had been brought to Luna.  
  
Chthonian genetic makeup led to atypical compatibility with the V and XVI legions. Allowing for massive numbers of Astartes to be created from the Ganger children rounded up by the Imperium. The information gleaned from the Court of Destiny told Uriah one of the vessels docking today would hold a boy who could either become an exemplar of the Legio Astartes or a despoiler of countless worlds.  
  
A series of screams and feral animal-like noises pierced the quiet murmuring of the Void-Dock. Uriah knew at once that was his cue. Moving quickly to the source of the commotion the man who had once been the Last Priest was greeted with a sight that would have almost been amusing if blood and brain matter were not splattered upon those involved. A boy of barely half a Terran decade in age was cornered by a trio of Wardens. A fourth warden lay dead at the child's feet, still slightly twitching as his blood pooled around his burst skull.  
  
Somehow the feral youth had managed to escape the processing procession and ambush his pursuers. An improvised leaver had been used to drop cargo onto the Wardens, killing the one and stunning the others long enough for the boy to steal his victims buzz-baton. While still outnumbered the child had turned the batons settings up to a seizure-inducing voltage and kept his foes at bay with it. All while screaming what Uriah assumed were particularly foul Chthonic curses.  
  
The Wardens, in turn, responded with what Uriah assumed from the tone were equally dire threats in Chthonic. The men and women who sailed to Chtonia and ran the harvests were oftentimes natives of that world or at least could speak their language in passing. This was important in not only establishing positive relations with the youths but for Uriah's mission.  
  
Approaching the situation the Guardian of Truth placed his hands on the Wardens shoulders and with confidence born of decades of practice convinced them to leave. He would handle this, the other reason he touched them was to use a psychic gift granted to him by the Emperor in order to assist his duties. By touching a speaker of a language unknown to him Uriah could for a time speak it fluently, as the knowledge was copied over to his brain and usable for a few days.  
  
As the Wardens backed away he spoke to the youth: “Hello Ezekyle, we have much to discuss”  
  
Momentary shock flared across the shaggy-haired boy before he regained his composure. Snarling Ezekyle Abaddon answered: “Who the Frak are you and how the Frak do you know my name?”  
  
Calmly Uriah responded while edging closer to the boy: “My name is Uriah Olathaire, I was sent here by the Emperor to ask you a few questions. Would you mind putting down the baton so we can speak?”  
  
Charisma be it supernatural or natural no matter how powerful was not enough to break through survival-fear and Ezekyle did not budge. Uriah doubted his words would have had the desired effect but figured it was worth a shot.  
  
“Do you know why you are here young one?” asked the former Priest as he eased his body weight onto his cane and prepared to speak to the youth at weapon-point  
  
Shifting his stance slightly while still holding the crackling buzz-baton Ezekyle spook softly “The gang-grabbers said there was a fight, a big fight. It needs Tough-Bastards to win it.”  
  
A sneer of slight derision passed over the boys face as he continued “What sort of limp-necked gang needs to kiddenap to fight its fights? You have these big movers and plenty of Grabbers to steal us and keep us so why not use them for your fight?”  
  
Smiling softly Uriah was not surprised the perspective of those born within the depths of hives was often incredibly limited. Abaddon's answer was technically correct so Uriah continued. “Not a fight my child, a War. A conflict that will only end with humanity ruling the galaxy or dead. Tell me Ezekyle who would you fight and die for?”  
  
Almost instantly the steely-eyed child answered with conviction and sincerity disturbing for one so young. “My gang and my family. I would kill for them and die to protect them”  
  
With that statement Uriah knew his mission would be a success, now all that needed to be done was ensure the Child knew the truth of what constituted his tribe and family. “So if a bigger gang attacked both your gang and your neighbor gang would you work together to defeat the threat and become one stronger gang?”  
  
Tentatively Abaddon nodded in agreement and Uriah went on: “So what if an even worse gang threatened to take your hive away from you and kill your family? Would you fight and die for your entire Hive?”  
  
Ezekyle Abaddon’s young hive-born mind could scarcely imagine such a devastating conflict but if it were to occur he knew he and his Gang would kill to keep their home. Abaddon said as much and Uriah initiated the final push.  
  
“What if monsters from beyond the stars invaded your entire world? Things that sought to eat you and your family alive for the sick enjoyment of it? Would you and your world unite to drive off those monsters? I imagine you would, well what if such monsters threatened every human on every world? Would you fight and die to protect another human you never met across the galaxy because they were part of your gang?”  
  
Still unsure of what the old man was getting at Ezekyle responded “Yeah, if they are part of my gang they would die for me and I would die for them”  
  
“Well that is the nature of it Ezekyle, our species is one gang, one tribe, one people. There are nightmares that seek to break us and consume us. Simply because we dare to live, we dare to survive and thrive. That is the war you have been chosen to fight. To unite the millions of gangs and worlds of humanity against the coming darkness.” this Speech and countless versions of it had been spoken by Uriah to help sway entire nations to the Imperiums cause.  
  
Preparing to finish Uriah could sense his words entering the boy’s mind and soul. “That is what the Imperium is, that is what the Emperor's dream is. To bring unity to Humanity. We must stand together as a people against the darkness or be swallowed piecemeal by it. Will you stand as a Warrior of Humanity? A Soldier in the Legion of Light?”  
  
Slowly lowering his stolen weapon the illuminated child answered Uriah and denied the Dark Gods their greatest champion “Yes, I will stand and fight.”  
  
Approaching and placing his hand on the child's shoulders Uriah thanked Ezekyle for his strength and willingness to fight. He walked the boy who would be a legend to the Processing center and prepared to leave Luna. For his countless other duties awaited.  
  
Uriah was not privy to the events he had set in motion but others were. Within the Imperial Palace as he watched his sons and their legions practice the Emperor of Mankind felt the fates shift. Soon Ezekyle Abaddon would become one of humanity's greatest heroes, instead of one of its greatest foes.  
  
The boy would undergo the implantation of Gene Seed and by a one in a billion odds become greater than virtually any Astartes. He along with a few other names that would go down in the histories of the Legio Astartes was uniquely compatible with his Primarchs genes. Abaddon would be empowered to become something greater than an Astartes but less than a Primarch. Similar to Ghota’s relation to Arik Taranis, Abaddon would become the greatest Son of Horus.  
  
Peering into the Future the Emperor let out a deep sigh and thought to himself. “Fourteen Years till the Crusade is ready. Any longer and our window is too short.”  
  
Focusing for a moment the Master of Mankind manipulated the Astronomicon. Golden Psychic-Fire that washed through the Warp started to pulse at a strange frequency. Only a being of the Warp and incredibly powerful could determine the message conveyed by viewing these fluctuations in their entirety.  
  
The Four self-proclaimed Gods detected the message and howled in fury and just a hint of fear as the Emperor's words crashed into them. “Your Doom is coming”


	11. The Legiones Astartes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overview of the Astartes Legions base structure.

****

**The** L **egione** s **Astartes**  
  
“They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear."  
  
  
 **Crusader Fleets and Expedition Fleets**  
  
 **Crusader Fleets** \- The vast majority of the Legio Astartes are organized in Twenty massive forces known as the Crusader Fleets. Containing 80-90% of all Astartes in a Legion each Crusader Fleet acts as an unparalleled military force capable of waging war against any Xeno or Noncompliant Empire.  
  
Commanded by a Primarch each Fleet is supported by multiple Titan Legions, Imperial Auxilla Regiments, and Iterator Courts. With the Legio Astartes forming the main fighting force and backbone of Crusade Fleet.  
  
The purpose and goal of each Crusade Fleet is to eliminate major threats to the Imperium. A list of high-priority targets compiled by the Emperor was presented to each Primarch at the start of the Crusade. The lists are unique to the Primarch they were given too and the foes detailed within would fall to that Primarchs and their legions talents.  
  
Each Crusader Fleet numbers in the hundreds of vessels, from titanic Gloriana Flagships to swarms of small escort crafts. Millions of Humans live and work in the fleet. This number includes the Fleets Legion. The Legion is required to maintain at least 500,000 Battle-Brothers and if casualties dip the number below that reinforcements from Expedition fleets will be called in.  
  
Periodically Crusader Astartes will be deployed to Expedition fleets and vice versa. This helps prevent complacency, overtaxed forces, and intra-legion rifts. These periodic changes help disrupt the formation of possibly corrupting secret-societies and helps forge positive bonds between Astartes and baseline humans.  
  
Organized into Ten specialized Super-Formations with unique names in each Legion the Crusader Astartes are capable of mobilizing and organizing successfully hundreds of thousands and in some cases millions of Astartes in a single battle. The Super-Formations are designed to specialize in a certain type of warfare and depending on a Legions own specialty some might be far larger than others.  
  
  
  
 **Expedition Fleets** \- Far smaller and far more numerous than the Crusader Fleets the Expedition Fleets exist as the Imperium's primary Unification force. Composed of Martian Explorators, Imperial Auxilia, Iraetor Courts and a token Astartes Force the Expedition Fleets are meant for exploration and diplomacy.  
  
Expedition Fleets form the third wave of Imperial expansion. First Rogue Traders who often time are involved with the fleets survey and scout a galactic region. The Crusader Fleets then eliminate any major threats in the region. The Expedition fleets than mop up any lesser dangers establish contact with the region's cultures and work to integrate them into the Imperium. Expedition Fleets also give the all clear for civilian vessels from Colony ships too Mining Charters to use new Imperial Space.  
  
Crusader Fleets are typically accompanied by several Expedition Fleets when operating between Crusade-Fronts. It is not uncommon for some of the more politically minded Primarchs too bring their Fleet during combat lulls or periods of repair and refit along with Expeditions. To help ease negotiations and tour the growing Imperium.  
  
Unlike Crusader Fleets that are commanded by a Primarch, an expedition fleet is commanded by a human commander. These Expedition Captains as they are called are often minor Imperial celebrities and are often recruited from Terran noble houses and Auxilia officer corps. To get this command strong force of will along with extreme competence is required. They are one of the few non-Astartes that can give orders to the Emperors Angels of Death.  
  
Each Expedition Fleet is garrisoned with a contingent of Astartes. The size of this garrison ranges from 200 to 20,000 depending on the size of the Expedition fleet and the hostility of the space they are traveling. The reason for this particular number is representatives of all twenty Legions are required in each fleet. Ranging from a single Squad to an entire Chapter.  
  
  
  
 **Rank**  
(This is a generalized system with sub-ranks and specialty ranks existing in various Legions. Such as Marshal-Lieutenants, Chapter Commander and)

  1. Neophyte- An Astartes in training. Lacking some Implants but combat ready. Organized into Training companies presided over by Scout Sergeants. Training companies duties depend on Legion. Ranging from scout work to being apprenticed under a Battle-Brother.  
  

  2. Battle Brother- Rank and File Astartes that have completed their Training and assigned to a Super-Formation. Organized into Ten Man squads that act as a close-knit unit. Some battle brothers with particular talents are removed from the normal chain of command and become a Specialist that exist outside of typical squad command.  
  

  3. Marshal-Sergeant- Officer and leader of a Battle-Brother Squad. Typically the eldest of the Squad with the most experience. The Veterans of hundreds of battles a Marshal-Sergeant will be sometimes be reassigned to train Neophytes as a Scout-Sergeant.  
  

  4. Captain- Officer of a Hundred Battle-Brother strong Company. Each is a skilled commander capable of making independent decisions and leading a company into battle. Captains are also the lowest rank capable of commanding a vessel or an Expedition Contingent. If less than a company of each legion is deployed to an Expedition Fleet a Captain will be selected to have operational command over all the Astartes.  
  

  5. Chapter Master- Elite officers who are in charge of commanding ten companies and all required support staff. These are the commanders of the Legio Astartes who direct battles and command respect. Chapter Masters are typically elected by a Chapters Captains but it's not unheard of them being appointed by higher-ups in times of emergency.  
  

  6. Lord Commander- The Generals of the Legio Astartes, they command Cohorts and excel at getting multiple Super-Formations to work together in unison. Trusted by their Primarch with command over an entire theater of operations.  
  

  7. Battlemaster- Handpicked by the Legions Primarch to lead a Super-Formation. These Space Marines are absolute masters of a certain type of warfare.  
  

  8. Primarch- The Gene Father and absolute commander of a legion. Second only to the Emperor himself in military matters.



  
**Basic Combat Organization**  
  
 _Squadron-_ A Space Marine squad is composed of nine battle brothers and a Sergeant. The Astartes fight together as a unit and will fight and die for each other. Squads can either be specialist squads consisting of a single loadout or diversified squads of varying loadouts.  
  
 _Company-_ Composed of ten squads, twenty support Astartes, and a Captain. Form the basic combat force of an Astartes and are designed to be equally effective operating independently or part of a larger force. A Company is trained to be able to rapidly shift from self-sufficient commando force to specialized military battalion. As such Companies are typically formed of squads with similar and complementary skills.  
  
 _Chapter_ \- Ten Companies and support ranging from Armor columns to assigned Auxilia Regiments form a Legio Astartes Chapter. Similar to the companies that compose them Chapters are meant to be able to operate as independent armies or part of a specialized formation. Chapters typically are given nicknames based on their unique characteristics and specialties.  
  
 _Cohort-_ Five to fifty Chapters of Astartes working together as a single army. Typically composed of multiple super-formation Chapters working in concert to support each other. In rare cases a Cohort of a single Super-Formation may be deployed as needed though. A Cohort forms a theatre of operations for an Astartes Legion and its size varies on the intensity and importance of said conflict.  
  
 _Super Formation-_ A large number of specialized Chapters unified together into a single Legion-wide formation. Can be deployed in its entirety under a Battlemaster with Lord Commander lieutenant or in part under an appointed Lord Commander Designed to operate on massive battlefields against millions of foes the Super-Formations allow the skills of its Legion to be used to its fullest. While smaller deployments are designed to be both special forces and part of a larger army the Super-Formations are meant to fight solely as part of a legion, reliant on other Formations and much more specialized.  
  
  
  
 **The Super-Formations (Also known as Wings, Branches, Orders, etc)**  
  
 _The First Formation- Elites_ Amazingly skilled warriors selected for the most difficult duties and missions. Unlike the other formations, they are not assigned from training but are elevated to the First Formation after displays of martial skill, valor and legion values. Armed and equipped with the finest wargear available to the Legion masters of every skill set used in legion make up the First Formation. In combat, the First Formation is often used as an elite strike force to turn the tide of a battle or end it decisively. Out of combat they often have the duty of forming honor guards and attending diplomatic functions as a demonstration of Imperial force. The Astartes of the first formation are the most likely to fight alongside their Primarch, and typically two to three chapters of this formation are always deployed alongside their genefather.  
  
  
 _The Second Formation-Warsuits._ Each member is armored head to toe in Advanced Power Armor. Smaller than most other Formations due to limited numbers of tactical dreadnought armor, Centurion suits, and Dreadknights. Specialize in wading into the thickest of the fighting to inflict and take massive amounts of damage. Heavily armed and armored for spear tip strikes and frontal assaults. The Second Formation is deployed in two manners. In units of heavy shock troopers or single troops deployed within other formations to provide support.  
  
  
 _The Third Formation- Fast Attack._ Composed of Bike Cavalry and Jetpack specialists the Third Formation strikes hard and fast. Prizing mobility and efficiency the third Formation’s duties is to start a battle on the Imperiums terms and keep the enemy formation broken. Fast Attack war-bikes and Jet-Bikes typically form a lighting fast blitz-force capable of ripping through the enemy line and opening them up to further attacks. The Jump Infantry of the Third Formation is sometimes deployed alongside their cavalry brothers to decimate disoriented pockets of enemies. At other times they are deployed piecemeal throughout the battle to act as fast-moving reinforcements to patch breaks in the battle-lines or harass enemy flanks.  
  
  
 _The Fourth Formation- Armored Assault._ The Fourth Formation operates the armored transports and tanks of the Legion. Transporting troops to the front lines and using the crushing power of heavy tanks to break the enemy are the duties of the Fourth formation. Each legions fleet of battle tanks, APC’s and skimmers is operated by the Fourth Formation to great effect. Some of the more mechanized Legions like the IV and X boast massive numbers of these vehicles and equally large Fourth Formations to operate them. Different Legions prefer to use the Fourth Formation in unique ways. Some prefer the armored tank-lines be used independently to engage a blitzkrieg strategy. Others prefer the more reliable force multiplying effect of them supporting infantry.  
  
  
 _The Fifth Formation- Basic Infantry._ Almost always the largest Formation the Basic Infantry form the core of a Legion. These are the battle-brothers holding the line and doing the majority of the fighting. Composed of Astartes lacking the skills or interest to join one of the more specialized formations the Fifth Formation is known for being more adaptable and more efficient than its siblings. Where other formations might win a battle the Basic Infantry wins Wars. Equipped similarly to expedition fleet chapters they wield Standard Issue weapons, armor, and equipment. This formations squads similar to a Chapters can share a single loadout or have more diversified one’s per battle-brother and war-zone need.  
  
  
 _The Sixth Formation- Close Quarter Combat._ Brutal warriors whose Modus operandi involves getting into the thickest of the fighting and reaping a grim toll upon the foe. By nature of their role, the Sixth Formation suffers higher casualties than virtually any other on average. This is counterbalanced by its atypical recruitment numbers. Many young battle-brothers seek to bloody themselves up close to the xeno-hordes. This is also the reason it is one of the most transferred out of formations. Veterans typically mature past their bloodlust and seek to serve the Imperium in other ways. Typically work closely with the Fifth Formation in holding the front lines.  
  
  
 _The Seventh Formation- Destroyers_. The grimmest and most brutal Formation the Seventh hold the combat role of heavy weapon and total warfare specialists. Collateral damage is an inevitable part of warfare. The other formations acknowledge this and seek to minimize it, this is not the case with the Seventh. Extremely destructive weaponry and relentless extermination are the duties of this formation. Like the second formation, they are typically deployed piecemeal throughout other formations to support them with overwhelming firepower and for the other formation to keep them in check. In the rare cases where the raw annihilating power of the Seventh is needed in its entirety, they can assemble and reduce cities to ash.  
  
  
 _The Eighth Formation- Void Specialists._ Legio Astartes translates to Legion of the Stars, this is the origin of the coequal civilian term for the Emperors Angels: The Space Marines. Void warfare is a brutal unforgiving practice that the Eighth Formation is designed to handle. Divided into two rough sub-formations the Eighth form both a Legions pilots for their transport and attack crafts, while also performing boarding operations. Either piloting a stormbird or marching through an enemy vessels hallway stormshield in hand the Eighth Formation ensure the Imperium alone is master of the Void. The Armor and weapons of the Eighth Formation are designed to allow effective fighting in the confines of Voidships and surviving the dangers of collapsing vessels and the unforgiving void.  
  
  
 _The Ninth Formation- Defensive Warfare_. War is Hell, the Ninth Formation know that better than most and are meant to not only survive but thrive in that environment. The building and garrisoning of Fortresses falls to the Ninth Formation. Attrition warfare, artillery and defending a Legions supply lines also fall under the Ninth formations purview. This leads to a somber and pragmatic attitude to these heavily armed and armored battle brothers. While other formations may capture territory the Ninth ensures they keep that territory.  
  
  
 _The Tenth Formation- Specialists and Logistics._ Not so much a single formation but a blanket term to cover and classify the countless specialists and support-Astartes that operate inside a Legion. These include the Libarius, Chaplaincy Corp, Tech-Marines, Apothecaries, Emperors Talons detachment, Silver Order Detachment, Muster Chiefs, Scouts and the neophytes. The training and recruitment of new Astartes for the Legion falls under the Tenth Formations duties. Once they finish their training in the Tenth they are assigned to another formation or expedition fleet.

 **Gene-Seed**  
  
Of all the Transhuman abilities that empower the Emperor's sons, one stands above the others. The Legion-Forge organ of the Primarchs saturates the Primarchs bloodstream with proto-prognoids. These can be extracted and cultivated into Gene-Seed. A series of psycho-genetic implants that transform a baseline human into a physically, genetically and spiritually superhuman warrior. The Implant series augments the mortal's physical body to levels only matched by the greatest Gene-Warriors of the Golden Age. Their genome is subtly reprogrammed to better resist the horrors of the cosmos and allow the Astartes body to use the implants successfully. Their very soul is strengthened and linked to their Primarch and the Emperor himself in a minute way.  
  
Only baseline or class-A mutants possessing an XY chromosome can undergo the transformation. The chances of success are directly related to the genetic and psychological makeup of the initiate. Different strains of Geneseed have different compatibility with different phenotypes and cultures. With applicants whose background correlates to that Primarchs gene and spiritual aspect having better odds.  
  
There are a number of phenomena related to Astartes gene-seed that only occur in rare cases. Overshadowing as it is known is the most common of these phenomena and will typically occur to most Astartes over their lifetime. The physical traits of there Primarch will start to replace the Astartes original features. All Astartes experience this to a certain extent when they are forged and it usually intensifies with age. Some Legions like the III and XVI experience much more intensely than others. Gene-syncing is the other and much rarer phenoanaoma. Very few individuals with unique genetic and psychic affinity to the geneseed will undergo this effect. The Geneseed, in essence, is accepted better and incorporated into their biology at such a level they become something more than an Astartes and more like a lesser version of their Primarch.  
  
  
  
 _The Organs_  
  


  1. Second Heart- This simplest and most self-sufficient of implants allows a Space Marine to survive his other heart being damaged or destroyed, and to survive in low oxygen environments. Not just a back-up, the secondary heart can boost the blood-flow around the Marine's body.  
  

  2. Ossmodula- A small, complex, tubular organ, the ossmodula secretes hormones that both affect the ossification of the skeleton and encourages the forming bone growths to absorb ceramic-based chemicals that are laced into the Marine's diet.[1][2a][3] This drastically alters the way a Space Marine's bones grow and develop. Two years after this implant is first put in the subject's long bones will have increased in size and strength (along with most other bones), and the rib cage will have been fused into a solid mass of bulletproof, interlocking plates.  
  

  3. Biscopea- This small, circular organ is inserted into the chest cavity and releases hormones that vastly increase muscle growth throughout the marine's body. It also serves to form the hormonal basis for many of the later implants.  
  

  4. Sinew Coils- Known as the Steel Within, the Space Marne's sinews are reinforced with durametallic coil-cables that contract with incredible force, magnifying the subjects strength beyond that of a regular Space Marine and giving another layer of interior defense.  
  

  5. Magnificat- this small thumbnail-sized lobe is inserted into the brain's core. The implant secretes hormones that increase the body's growth functions while also intensifying its advanced systems, especially for the ossmodula and biscopea. In truth, this implant is but half of the true, dual-valve immmortis gland (the "God-Maker") which the Emperor made for the Primarchs.  
  

  6. Revitalizer- his dormant organ connects to both hearts. In times of extreme stress or trauma, it expels self-manufactured chemical similar to combat stimms that also aids in regeneration. After activation the gland will fall dormant again, taking some time to build up itself for activation once more  
  

  7. Haemastamen- Implanted into the main circulatory system, this tiny implant not only increases the haemoglobin content of the subject's blood, making it more efficient at carrying oxygen around the body and making the subject's blood a bright red.  
  

  8. Larraman's Organ- A liver-shaped organ about the size of a golf-ball, this implant is placed within the chest cavity and connected to the circulatory system. It generates and controls 'Larraman cells' which are released into the bloodstream if the recipient is wounded. They attach themselves to leucocytes in the blood and are carried to the site of the wound, whereupon contact with air they form a near instant patch of scar tissue, sealing any wounds the Space Marine may suffer.  
  

  9. Catalepsean Node- Implanted into the back of the brain, this pea-sized organ influences the circadian rhythms of sleep and the body's response to sleep deprivation. If deprived of sleep, the catalepsean node cuts in. The node allows a Marine to sleep and remain awake at the same time by switching off areas of his brain sequentially. This process cannot replace sleep entirely but increases the Marines survivability by allowing perception of the environment while resting[1][2a][3]. This means that a Space Marine needs no more than 4 hours of sleep a day, and can potentially go for 2 weeks without any sleep at all  
  

  10. Dohrnii Drive- A small gland inserted into the brain stem. It stays dormant for the rest of an Astartes creation and is only activated with certain hormonal signatures once the Astartes reaches full maturity. Once activated it secretes a mapping-polymer that forms a non-interfering coat upon the Space Marines nerves. The polymer transmits the neural patterns and activity back to the Dohrnii Drive where the information is stored along with other biological data intercepted from the brain stream. If the nerves or tissues coated by the Drive are damaged it will use the saved data to assist the Astartes healing process in restoring them to peak condition. This allows an Astartes with sufficient time and nutrients to heal from even the most grievous wounds as long as the Dohrnii Drive and brainstem remain intact.  
  

  11. Preomnor- Is essentially a pre-stomach that can neutralize otherwise poisonous or indigestible foods. No actual digestion takes place in the preomnor, as it acts as a decontamination chamber placed before the natural stomach in the body's system and can be isolated from the rest of the digestive tract in order to contain particularly troublesome intake. This intake is then purified allowing the Astartes to gain nutrients from even the most unexpected sources.  
  

  12. Omophagea- allows a Space Marine to 'learn by eating'. It is situated in the spinal cord but is actually part of the brain. Four nerve bundles are implanted connecting the spine and the stomach wall. Able to 'read' or absorb genetic material consumed by the marine, the omophagea transmits the gained information to the Marine's brain as a set of memories or experiences. It also helps assists form the Astartes eidetic memory.  
  

  13. Multi-lung- This additional lung activates when a Space Marine needs to breathe in low-oxygen or poisoned atmospheres, and even water. The natural lungs are closed off by a sphincter muscle associated with the multi-lung and the implanted organ takes over breathing operations. It has highly efficient toxin dispersal systems  
  

  14. Occulobe- This implant sits at the base of the brain, and provides hormonal and genetic stimuli which enable a Marine's eyes to respond to optic-therapy. This, in turn, allows the Apothecaries to make adjustments to the growth patterns of the eye and the light-receptive retinal cells - the result being that Space Marines have far superior vision to normal humans, and can see in low-light conditions almost as well as in daylight  
  

  15. Lyman's Ear- Not only does this implant make a Space Marine immune from dizziness or motion sickness but also allows Space Marines to consciously filter out and enhance certain sounds. The Lyman's Ear completely replaces a Marine's original ear. It is externally indistinguishable from a normal human ear.  
  

  16. Sus-an Membrane- Initially implanted above the brain, this membrane eventually merges with the recipient's entire brain. Ineffective without follow-up chemical therapy and training, but with sufficient training a Space Marine can use this implant to enter a state of suspended animation, consciously or as an automatic reaction to extreme trauma, keeping the Marine alive for years, even if he has suffered otherwise mortal wounds. Only the appropriate chemical therapy or auto-suggestion can revive a Marine from this state. Linked to the Dohrnii Drive to start the process of extreme regeneration while in suspended animation.  
  

  17. Melanchromic Organ- This implant controls the amount of melanin in a Marine's skin. Exposure to high levels of sunlight will result in the Marine's skin darkening to compensate. It also protects the Marine from other forms of radiation  
  

  18. Oolitic Kidney- In conjunction with the secondary heart, this implant allows a Space Marine to filter his blood very quickly, rendering him immune to most poisons. This action comes at a price, however, as this emergency detoxification usually renders the Marine unconscious while his blood is circulated at high speed. The organ's everyday function is to monitor the entire circulatory system and allow other organs to function effectively  
  

  19. Neuroglottis- This enhances a Space Marine's sense of taste to such a high degree that he can identify many common chemicals by taste alone. A Marine can even track down his target by taste and smell.  
  

  20. Mucranoid- This implant allows a Space Marine to sweat a substance that coats the skin and offers resistance to extreme heat and cold and can even provide some protection for the marine in a vacuum.  
  

  21. Betcher's Gland- Consists of two identical glands, implanted either into the lower lip, alongside the salivary glands or into the hard palette. The gland works in a similar way to the poison gland of venomous reptiles by synthesizing and storing deadly poison, which the Marines themselves are immune to due to the gland's presence. This allows a Space Marine to spit a blinding contact poison. The poison is also corrosive and can even burn away strong metals given sufficient time.  
  

  22. Progenoids- here are two of these glands, one situated in the neck and the other within the chest cavity. These glands are vitally important and represent the future of the Legion, as the only way new gene-seed can be produced is by reproducing it within the bodies of the Marines themselves. This is the implant's only purpose. The glands absorb genetic material from the other implanted organs. When they have matured each gland will have developed a single gene-seed corresponding to each of the zygotes which have been implanted into the Marine. The Neck Progenoid can be harvested every five years but the chest one is only harvestable one at Death.  
  

  23. Black Carapace- The most distinctive implant, it resembles a film of black plastic that is implanted directly beneath the skin of the Marine's torso in sheets. It hardens on the outside and sends invasive neural bundles into the Marine's body. After the organ has matured the recipient is then fitted with neural sensors and interface points cut into the carapace's surface. This allows a Space Marine to interface directly with his Power Armour. Without the Black Carapace, many of the systems of the power armour will not function. While driving the vehicles of the Chapter, special spinal interface plugged into power armour and Black Carapace to provide the Space Marine an intuitive 'feel' for vehicles systems and controls, literally making him a part of his vehicle  
  

  24. Legion Unique Organ- each Gene-line possess a unique Organ that further enhances that lineages specialties. The time of implantation varies with the organ. The organs are based on the unique augmentations of each Primarch possess and allows the Astartes to tap into the smallest bit of their Primarchs incredible abilities.



  
**Specialty Astartes**  
  
 _The Librarius_  
  
Psychic powers are one of the more dangerous and powerful tools available to the Legions. Astartes initiates who display Psychic potential are drafted into the Librarius once their basic training finishes. To better protect them from the Warps influence each new Acolytum (apprentice Librarian) is psychically bonded to the highest ranking present Librarian. Helping create a chain of souls from the Chief Librarian all the way to the freshest recruit. This allows the Librarians of the Legio Astartes to better resist the warps taint and draw upon experience and power of their seniors.  
  
The Librarius is typically treated with wary respect by the rest of the legions for the powers they wield are great and so are the dangers they face. Some legions have larger Librarius simply due to Gene-Seed perculities. These include the XV which is almost entirely psychically active and the IX which possesses a Legion wide psychic connection. When a new Chief Librarian is selected by the Legions Primarch they are ritually bound with a drop of the Primarchs blood, making the Legions soul-chain far more resistant to the taint of Chaos.  
  
The Libarius is subdivided into various orders of Psychic specialties. Librarians like all psykers tend to gravitate to a certain type of warp-manipulation. The Basic Schools of the Libarius are as such. The Order of Force that specializes in the manipulation of the elements and matter via telekinesis, pyrokinesis and their kin arts. The Order of the Mind deals with the manipulation of minds and bodies. This includes telepathy, biokinesis, and technopathy. Lastly is the Order of Souls which teaches the arts of Divination, Runes, and Sanctic Daemonology. Battle-Brothers of the Libariaus have their armor marked to indicate the arts they specialize in.  
  
  
 _The Chaplaincy Corps_  
  
Astartes may be superhuman but they are indeed at their core human. As such mortal failings and the stress of war can affect even them. It is the duty of the Chaplaincy Corps to help their battle-brothers in these times of need. Charismatic and wise the Chaplains provide guidance and counsel to their brothers off the battlefield, and righteous fury an unshakable resolve to aspire too on the battlefield.  
  
One of the duties of the Chaplaincy is to oversee the social activities and off-duty conduct of Astartes. Most legions possess some sort of internal organization for bonding and decompression. The Chaplains ensure these organizations stay within Imperial guidelines and do not act as corrupters. Astartes who are corrupted by Warp or Xeno taint are also the duty of the Chaplains, be it overseeing their redemption or leading Euthanizer-Squads to hunt down the traitors.  
  
Tech Marines  
  
Those with particular mechanical talent are drafted into the Tech Marines. Here Astartes are instructed by the Tech-Priests of Mars on the proper maintenance, and manufacturing of the Legions equipment. The Armor and Weapons of a Legion are typically built at Forge Worlds but are modified and upgraded to a Legions specifics by the Tech Marines. More unique artifacts or custom items of a Legion are almost always created and maintained by the Tech Marines though.  
  
On the Battlefield the Tech Marines typically ensure the working of equipment and do emergency repairs when needed. The deployment of equipment and vehicles also falls under the purview of Tech Marines. Drop-Pods and Drop-Ships deploying that equipment are accompanied by a Tech-Marine to ensure maximum performance. Tech-Marines also work with a squad of tech-priests which can number from two to hundreds. This varies on the rank, skill, and intensity of the Tech Marines current project. Engiseer members of these Assistant-Priests also serve alongside the Tech Marines on the battlefield  
  
  
 _Apothecaries_  
  
Geneseed is the lifeblood of a Legion. The care and harvesting of this precious substance along with the caring for a Legions injured are the duties of the Apothecarium. Legion Apothecaries harvest Gene-Seed from three different sources, the Legions Primarch, the Legions Dead and an Astartes neck Prognoids which can be harvested every five years. The secrets of Astartes creation are kept by the Apothecarium. The care of Geneseed and the creation of the Astartes are the primary duty of the Apothecarium. While the treatment of injuries and overseeing the health of the Legion are their secondary duties.  
  
On the battlefield, Apothecaries act as a combat medic and when necessary euthanizers. For even with the great regenerative abilities of the Astartes, the Emperor's peace is sometimes the only option available. Apothecaries tend to gravitate towards the duties of Astartes-Smith or Combat-Medic and will as their carrier continues usually end up specializing as one or the other.  
  
  
 _Scouts_  
  
Information wins wars, that tenet is possibly even more true with the Transhuman Astartes. Much of the information not collected by Servitor-Drones or Orbital scans come from the Astartes Scouts. Experts in stealth, asymmetrical warfare, and information gathering the scouts form the Legions primary recon and harassment force. Equipped with modified or stripped down power-armor that trades protection for stealth the Scouts are rarely seen on the battlefield, let alone the front lines. More often they work to harass supply-lines, eliminate key targets and keep HQ up to date on enemy movements.  
  
Some Legions use the Scouts as the last segment of their neophyte training instead of having them as their own separate standing force. This gives the young Astartes combat experience while teaching them the subtle aspects of warfare. Even in these Legions, Scout-Sergeants are sometimes assembled into special operations squads known as Kill-Teams. These experienced operators are entrusted with the riskiest missions requiring surgical skill and stealth.  
  
  
 _Muster Chiefs_  
  
An army marches on its stomach. The Astartes Muster Chiefs are the masters of logistics Supplies and commanders of servants. Trans-Human Cogitars of incredible intellectual might and mathematical skill the logistics needed to run a galactic campaign are handled by them. Managing the human support staff of a legion, ranging from armory serfs to the Imperial Auxilla assigned to a Legion. Recruited from neophytes with great mathematical, problem-solving and mortal liaison skills the Muster Chiefs put their superhuman bodies and minds to the science of warfare.  
  
While more often found in the stock-pile zones and Cogitator centers of the Legion the Muster Chiefs are still Astartes and can be found on the battlefield. Auxillia regiments deployed alongside the Legions are deployed with one Muster chief as Astartes emissary and as a commanding officer outside the normal chain of command. Here they ensure the purity and loyalty of the regiment. For even the most battle-tested mortals lack protection from spiritual and physical threats an Astartes is immune too.  
  
  
 **Legion Detachments**  
  
The Legio Astartes do not fight their wars alone. Other armies and fighting forces accompany and assist the Legions in their crusades. These range in size and vary between each legion. With some Legions possessing massive detachments and others the bare minimum. Below are the most common and important of the Legions.  
  
  
 _The Talons of the Emperor_  
  
Each legion competes with each other to prove themselves the greatest Astartes fighting force in the Galaxy. Some will even go as far to say they are the mightiest Legion and second greatest warriors in the galaxy. None except the most foolishly boastful would ever claim to be the greatest. For the Talons of the Emperor are beyond comparison. A Single Shield-Company of a hundred Custodes and a Vigil of a thousand Sisters of Silence are deployed with Each Legion. They are the Emperors Talons and protect his servants while bringing death to his enemies.  
  
The Talons are typically deployed alongside the First Formation, acting as guardians for the Primarch and the Legions elite. Here they serve as an ever-present reminder of the Emperor's power and influence. Yet this powerful tool at the Primarchs disposal is a double-edged sword. For they are an unspoken threat against any who would betray the Emperor. Very few things could kill a Primarch, a hundred Custodes and a Thousand Sisters of Silence are one of those things.  
  
Despite being technically deployed as an asset of a Legion the Talons are the Emperors servants first and foremost. It is not uncommon for a segment or even the entirety of a Legions detachment to suddenly leave on a shadowy mission from the Master of Mankind himself. These missions can last for days to years and range from tracking down a specific artifact of great importance to eliminating a threat none can ever know of.  
  
  
 _The Collegia Titanica_  
  
Few things can withstand the might of the Emperors Angels of Death. The Imperium has weapons to face these threats, and chief among them are the Titan Legions. The Martian God-Machines are an army of walking exterminatus. Deployed in only the most extreme circumstances the Titans obliterate all who stand against them. A single Titan Legion is deployed with each Astartes Legion and provide destructive support beyond even the Astartes armor divisions.  
  
Each Legion varies in size and number of each Titan. The minimum is a single Capital Class Titan, Five Battle Titans, and ten Scout Titans. The size can increase exponentially upwards with a few Legions being able to field hundreds of God-machines. Skitarii and other Mechanicum forces are also deployed alongside the Titans as they would be in any other warzone. As such Mechanicum Forge-Ships are a hallmark of Crusader fleets. Transporting, supporting and repairing them and the Legions mechanical aspects.  
  
When the crusade first started the Legions Titan detachments were composed of loaned units from Mars. As the crusade continued and more and more Forge Worlds were found or founded Titans became a somewhat more common sight across the Great Crusade. Eventually, each Astartes Legion gained a sworn Collegia Titanica that existed solely to assist the Legion. These Legions are supplied by Forge Worlds who arm and armor that Legion. The Xth legion was the first to earn a Sworn-Legion. The Talos-Adamants of the Forge World Columnus.  
  
  
  
 _The Imperial Auxilia_  
  
While the Legio Astartes form the Imperium Sword and Spear the Imperial Auxilia make up its armor and shield. Recruited from compliant worlds the Imperial Auxilia keep the peace and ensure loyalty on planets across the Imperium. A very small percentage of Auxilia regiments will be sent to fight on the frontlines alongside the Astartes. These better trained and better-equipped regiments known as the Solar Auxilia support the Legions on the battlefield. They guard supply lines, mop up surviving enemy resistance and provide fire-support for the Astartes.  
  
Solar Auxilia regiments support the Legio Astartes Crusader Fleets but form the main combat force of Expedition Fleets. As such the first exposure to the Imperium's armed forces is often the Solar Auxilia. Because of this the Auxillia is drilled to perfection and equipped with the best available baseline equipment. In order to leave a favorable if intimidating impression of the Imperium.  
  
On the battlefield with the Astartes, the Auxilia play various roles. From providing covering fire to the Legionaries. To finishing off enemies before they can regroup and encircle the rapidly advancing Astartes. Sometimes they act as an anvil for the Astartes hammer. Holding them in place with grit and steel when the Emperor's Angels rain death upon them. In brutal grinding battles, they often patch the battle lines and bolster flagging flanks. Allowing the Astartes to regroup and strike.  
  
The number of Regiments assigned to a Legion varies, typically a Solar Cohort (120,000 Troops) per 50,000 Legionaries. This number was flexible, with some mass-infantry specializing Legions having a 1:1 Ratio of Solar Regiments (5,300) to Astartes Chapters. Solar Cohorts often earn titles related to their accomplishments. The ones assigned to the Legio Astartes names are typically related to their assigned Legions. Like the Plutonian Elite serving under the Solar Wardens VII Legion.  
  
  
 _The Iterator Corps and Other Civilian organizations_  
  
The Great Crusade was more than a military campaign. It was the reunification of mankind's lost colonies. The vast majority of encountered human civilizations were peaceful isolated communities living in fear of the galaxies horror. It was the duty of the Legions to slay those horrors and the duty of the Iterator Corp to convince these worlds to join the Imperium.  
  
Composed of the charismatic Iterators, who could convince entire worlds to join the Imperium with a single speech. Countless civilizations peacefully joined the Imperium, happy to be unified with the Cradle-World once again. The Iterator Corp was formed by Advocate-Primus of the Imperial Truth Uriah Olathaire. The various sub-orders of the Corps can also be traced to the specialties of some of his earliest disciples and projects. Like the anti-theistic Neologians or the Webspinners, masters of political manipulation.  
  
Civilians can be found throughout the Expedition and Crusader Fleets. Tech-Priests hunting for lost knowledge, servants ensuring the day to day running of things, and other more specialized groups. A prime example is the Remembrancer Order. A pet project of Malcador and the Emperor himself the Remembrancers record the Crusade for posterity. Much was lost in the Age of Strife. Including the vast majority of human history. That tragedy will not be allowed to be repeated.  
  
  
 _The Silver Order and the Silver Knights_

**(REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE IMPERATOR)** 


End file.
